You Can Get Out of The Car Now
by Florence1
Summary: Tag to the episode 'Chained.' In the aftermath of the episode a whole new story emerges Physically, emotionally, will Tony survive? Complete
1. Something's wrong

Disclaimer:- I do not own any of the NCIS characters nor do I intend any infringement of copyright by writing about them. I'm merely borrowing them in the hope that those who do own them won't mind. I promise to put them back when I've finished playing with them.

Author's note:- Many, many apologies for those reading my other story. I should have the next chapter of that up in a couple of days but I have just seen this episode and this popped into my head and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. I hope that you enjoy it and as ever please let me know.

Tag scene for **Chained**

Spoilers for:- (Can you guess?) Yes, that's right, Chained.

Picks up as the episode ends.

**You Can Get Out of The Car Now Tony.**

Gibbs watched as Tony's gaze drifted back to the gun in his bloodstained hands. There was something not quite right with the younger man's reactions. Gibbs had seen it before and was afraid that he knew what it meant. He swallowed, his eyes narrowing as he observed silently for a moment, he took the time to quell his own fractured nerves, using his training and years of practice to suppress his own emotional reaction. There would be time to deal with that later, for now there was a crime scene to secure, suspects to arrest, valuable antiquities to recover, and one of his team to take care of.

He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket, crouching down so that his eyes were level with Tony's. "I'll need the gun," he said holding the bag open.

Tony was finding thoughts difficult to process.

One minute he had been talking to the guy, offering him a deal, trying hard to believe in the image of the clumsy, but likeable, nervous dope that Jeffrey White had portrayed himself to be, but, even as he had spoken, his instincts were telling him that there was something wrong, that Lane was already dead, that far from being a bumbling thief, White was a killer. Still he had refused to believe it, because he knew that he didn't want to. He wanted to believe that White wasn't bad, that he'd just been led astray. Yeah, and he wanted to believe in the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus, and the ultimate goodness of the human soul too, but life shattered all of those illusions. He was old enough, experienced enough, to know better, and yet, even as White confessed, he still didn't want to believe.

He had really liked the guy; had wanted to help him; had wanted to save him. Right up to that last minute when he had drawn the blade around his throat, he'd wanted to save him.

He liked the guy.

He still liked the guy when he pulled the trigger, not once, not twice, but three times, blood spattered across his hand, his face, spraying the windows of the car, as he ended the life of someone he liked. That was when his thoughts had fractured, like the image in a mirror falling to the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny fragments on impact. He watched helplessly as they drifted apart, fragmented pictures, sounds, feelings, sensations. Memories of the last two days played out, barely recognisable on the broken pieces.

Awareness returned with Gibbs opening the door. The gun once again coming into focus, as he processed what it, what he had done. He had turned pained eyes to meet Gibbs'. "I really liked him," he stated.

He barely heard Gibbs' reply, couldn't process it although he knew Gibbs' lips were moving. His eyes returned to the gun and he stared at it again, fascinated by the tiny droplets of blood, Jeffrey's blood.

Gibbs tried again. "The gun Tony, I need the gun." He waited for a response.

"I really liked him," Tony repeated, every tone, every inflection identical to the first time he had stated it.

Gibbs pulled on some gloves before reaching across to place his hand on the weapon. As he took it he could feel the slight tremors running through Tony's muscles. "I need to take the gun," he stated with an uncharacteristic softness. Tony offered no resistance as it was pulled from his hand. Gibbs dropped it into the evidence bag and sealed it, looking back up to gauge Tony's reaction. He was disappointed to see that Tony still stared at his hands.

"You hurt Dinozzo?" He asked gruffly, figuring Tony might respond better to that than the more gentle approach. This time when he got no response his tone became even harsher. "Dinozzo!"

Tony jumped slightly. "Yeah boss?" he replied automatically, turning to look at Gibbs as lucidity returned.

"I asked if you were hurt?"

"No," he moistened his lips, seriously trying to process how he felt. "No, I don't think so."

Gibbs nodded, pushing himself back to a standing position. "You can get out of the car now, Tony." He said. pulling out his cell.

"Gibbs?" Kate's tone was almost frantic. She knew by Gibbs' reaction that the suspect was down, had known that the moment that she saw Gibbs lower his gun. She had also known that Tony was still alive, and probably uninjured, at least not seriously. Again Gibbs' reaction had given that much away, but she was still stuck guarding a suspect, her professionalism not allowing her to take her eyes off her charge for more than a second at a time. Thus she was unable to get any visual confirmation that her partner was all right, and, after more than a day of worrying about him, at some points fearing that he may not even be still alive, she really needed that confirmation, sooner rather than later. "How's Tony?"

Gibbs took a few steps towards her, his gaze shifting as his cell connected. "Suspects dead, Tony took him out," he stated. It was his round about way of answering her question, the information she needed implicit but not stated, efficient as ever, he was killing two birds with one stone as the comment served to simultaneously quell Abby's curiosity. "Abby, I need Ducky here and a team to recover the antiquities and take the buyers into custody." He paused for a moment, thoughtful, "Better get the paramedics out here too."

Both Kate and Abby reacted to that.

Kate took her eyes off the suspect to stare at Gibbs, "Is Tony hurt?"

Abby echoed the comment in his other ear.

"He's fine," Gibbs stated, "I just want to get him checked out."

Kate nodded, unconvinced, but not sure what else to ask at this point. She returned her attention to the man she was holding her gun on.

"Consider them on their way." Abby's fingers moved over her keyboard as she spoke.

It was another five minutes before Kate was relieved from her job as guard, and the suspects were taken into custody. She walked over to the car, her stomach clenching uneasily as she realised that Tony still sat inside. Her stomach lurched again as she caught sight of the blood on the side window, grateful that it had been Gibbs who had made this approach when they didn't know what had happened to Tony.

Tony's head was forward and he seemed to be staring intently down at his hands.

"Tony?"

He looked up, met her gaze. "I really liked him, ya know?" he stated softly.

"Tony," she crouched so that her head was level with his.

He looked back at his hands again. "He said I was the only guy who ever treated him well."

"Tony, you can get out of the car now," she stated softly.

He ignored her comment, well, not quite ignored, his brain couldn't, wouldn't process it. It danced as unrecognised noise on the edge of his consciousness.

"His father used to beat him."

"Tony?" When this got no response, she turned to look for the paramedics, but there was still no sign of them. She let out a frustrated sigh, turning her attention back to her partner, her brow creasing in concern. "Come on Tony you need to get out of this car."

This time the words penetrated.

No, if he got out of the car then he would have to see the body, and if he saw the body then it would be real, and he didn't want it to be real. He wanted to rewind the events of the last twenty-four hours; he wanted to live them again with different choices and different outcomes. So that this wouldn't be real, and he wouldn't have just come close to having his throat slit form ear to ear, and he wouldn't have to kill anyone, or, maybe, if he was given the time again, he could just convince himself that Jeffrey White was rotten to the core, that he deserved to die, that. . .

"Tony?"

She put her hand to the side of his face just below his ear so that it rested on his neck, intent on turning his head to face her. It felt wet, sticky. She pulled her hand back, gazing for a moment at the fresh bright red fluid that now coated her fingers. She stood, "Gibbs!" She shouted across to him. "We need those paramedics now."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	2. Have You Got My Back?

**Chapter 2: Have You Got My Back.**

Gibbs was speaking to the police sergeant who was currently the highest ranking of the local law enforcement that had arrived to help secure the scene. He was briefing him on what was expected, his back to the car, when Kate's agitated call cut short the exchange. He turned abruptly, catching the merest glimpse of Kate as she ducked back down. He stared, his brain processing the implications of her actions and the meaning of her comment. Damn! Tony was hurt and he had missed it. He should have known. . . . No, he wouldn't allow himself to get away with that, he did know that something was wrong; he just hadn't wanted to believe it. The relief at seeing Tony alive had obliterated all other considerations. He moved hurriedly across and yanked open the passenger door.

Kate was trying hard to get Tony's attention but he was still worryingly unresponsive. "Tony?"

No reaction.

"Tony you've been hurt." Kate tried unsuccessfully to make eye contact, moving her head into Tony's line of sight. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Gibbs began to climb into the car and froze, a softly spoken expletive dropping from suddenly dry lips. From this side the open wound could be clearly seen, a gash cut deep into the side of Tony's neck, following the collar line. Blood soaked the side of his shirt, streaking down the light-coloured fabric of the bench seat between them. Why the hell had Tony told him he wasn't hurt? Why hadn't he checked?

Tony still showed no sign that he had heard Kate. She looked up worriedly.

Gibbs met her gaze, forced to acknowledge the truth of the situation.

Shooting White had pushed Tony over the edge, over the line that his own moral code, his own psyche, could deal with. He had seen this happen before, in combat, in peacetime, it didn't matter. It was the response to an intense psychological ordeal, and the trigger depended solely on the individual. Sometimes the mind just hit the point of overload; sometimes there was no turning back. Something in what Tony had experienced had caused him to hit that point. Gibbs stared at him. How close had Tony come to dying? How close had he been to failing in his assertion that he wasn't going to let Tony screw up his record of not losing an agent undercover? Tony seemed oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to the fact that he was hurt. Why had he formed such an attachment to White that killing him had triggered this sort of response? The questions tripped over each other, stealing his focus.

It took him a moment to realise that Kate was talking to him. "How bad is it?" she asked.

"He's lost a lot of blood," he stated, "I need something to put pressure on the wound."

Kate pulled off her scarf and handed it to him. He took it and pressed the cloth onto Tony's neck, trying hard to get an angle that would push the skin together, but it was in an awkward position; he pressed harder, knowing that he was causing pain, but he had no choice, he had to try to stop the blood loss.

To this point Tony had been completely unaware of the pain. His mind fighting an internal battle, as he struggled to come to terms with what he had been forced to do; it had been too close, too personal. He had allowed his emotions to take over, never a good idea, and, under the enforced, intense closeness of the last two days, almost fatal. He had told Jeffrey that he had his back. Not just empty words to someone in his profession. It was a phrase, an assertion you had to believe in, you for your partner, your partner for you. Your life, their life, literally depended on it. When you said it you had to mean it, and he had. When he'd said it to Jeffrey he had meant it, and then. . .then he'd shot him, killed him, killed his partner, his friend. . .no. . .that wasn't right; Jeffrey was a criminal, a thief, probably a murderer. . .but they'd been so close, Jeffrey was so vulnerable, just like. . .

Reality broke through in intermittent flashes. His thoughts painfully slow or lightning fast as he responded. He saw Gibbs, verbalised his thoughts, then Gibbs was gone and Kate was there, or maybe it had been Kate all along, he wasn't sure. He wasn't capable of more than stating the thought in his mind at that time, snatching the different memories and emotions as they drifted past.

Then there was the pain, sharp lancing pain. Someone was stabbing something into the side of his neck, pressing hard. He let out a startled moan, clamping his teeth together, whilst simultaneously trying to suck a deep breath though them; his eyes closed tightly as his stomach flipped. The wave of nausea, washed over him and he had to swallow hard.

He forced his eyes to open, expecting to see White staring down at him, knife in hand, telling him. 'Everything was going to be better now.' Instead he saw Gibbs. Gibbs was hurting him? Why would. . .?

"Gibbs I. . ." he drew in another deep breath. "Did I screw it up?"

Kate winced, the voice sounded so weak, so insecure, it was doubly unsettling coming from her normally brash partner. She looked across at Gibbs, catching for the briefest of moments the vulnerability in his own reaction before he covered it. Whether he was prepared to admit it aloud or not Gibbs was as worried as she was.

"No, Dinozzo, you did not screw it up." Gibbs stated firmly.

Tony gave a short sigh of relief, some of the tension relaxing from his muscles. That was good; he hadn't let Gibbs down, then why. . .? He tried to turn his head to see if it really was Gibbs that was causing the intense pain stabbing into his neck. The action was a mistake; a white flash of pain wiped all thoughts. He closed his eyes against a bright intensity that wasn't there, his breathing speeding up as tensing muscles drew more oxygen, but the short shallow breaths did no good, triggering a panic response that would have started a downwards spiral; except for the calm cool voice, close to his ear, telling him to relax, telling him to ride it out, to breathe slowly, deeply. He obeyed the quiet commanding tones, drawing in deep breaths until he could open his eyes again, as the pain settled to more manageable levels.

"That's good Tony," Gibbs stated. "Stay with us now."

He felt someone squeeze his hand and turned his gaze to meet Kate's. She smiled at him, but she wasn't fooling him, he could see the deep lines of concern that furrowed her brow, could see it in her eyes. "Hey Kate," he said, forcing his own tired smile. "You were worried about me weren't ya?"

Relief flooded through Kate at the normalcy of the question, for a moment she had her partner back. "Not for a second," she lied unconvincingly. "To be worried would imply that I care Tony." She forced a lightness into her tone, desperately needing the reassuring banter that would signal that her partner was all right.

Tony closed his eyes and swallowed, opening them again. "Oh you care Kate, I know." There was the briefest of pauses. "You've always got my back."

The words hit Kate hard; this time she hadn't. This time they had lost him. For almost a day they had always been one step behind. They had put him with, no, chained him to, a serial killer, leaving him alone and vulnerable. They hadn't had his back at all. She tried to word a reply, tried to stop the tears that were welling in her eyes, even as she watched his eyes cloud with confusion again. The moment of lucidity lost to whatever physical and mental pain it was that kept dragging him away from them.

Gibbs had pulled out his cell again, struggling to open it, and hit the speed dial with one hand, as he kept pressure on the wound with the other. "Abby, find out what's holding up that ambulance." He stated tersely.

If it had been anyone other than Gibbs, Abby might have picked up from the tightly controlled tone that there was something wrong, but this was Gibbs.

"Sure thing," she said, moving to her keyboard and beginning to type. "OK, it looks like there was a big MVA on the freeway just south of you, multiple trauma's, most of the units are tied up with that. You were lucky to get the police out to you as quickly as they did, if they hadn't just been on change of shift. . .

"Abby," Gibbs interrupted. "White managed to cut Tony, he's losing blood from a neck wound."

"But I thought you said. . ." Abby began confusion and concern registering equally in her tone

"Abby!"

"OK," she typed frantically, "I'm increasing the priority of the call as we speak Gibbs, but you could still have a wait on your hands." She paused, momentarily afraid to ask the question. "Can Tony make it?"

"He'll make it," Gibbs asserted, looking down at the younger agent who was getting paler by the minute. "Just get them here."


	3. Crisis

**Chapter 3: Crisis**

The tension in the car was palpable. Gibbs disconnected his cell and dropped it on the seat beside him. Shifting his position so that he could keep pressure on the wound, as he tried to ignore the cramp building in his hand from holding it at such an awkward angle. He scanned the surroundings analytically. "Abby says there's a delay on the paramedics," he stated, finally fixing his gaze on Kate. "So it's up to us."

Their gazes locked for the briefest of seconds, and a silent communication passed as they each tried to blank the emotion from their mind. Tony needed their help and he needed it now. There was no time to deal with the emotional baggage that came with this case, the turmoil of the last twenty-four hours, the current crisis. Concern, recriminations, responsibility, all of that would have to wait.

Gibbs broke eye contact to continue his scan. "We need to get him out of here," he stated.

Kate nodded; it agreed with her own assessment. Tony was clearly going into shock from the blood loss, and his mental state wasn't helping. They needed to get him lying on the ground, to try to keep his blood pressure up. It was a play off though. The very action that would keep blood flowing to his heart, to his brain, could also increase the rate at which he was losing blood. Still, they had little choice. She began to back out of the car. "I'll be right back," she stated, knowing that she did not have the strength to lift Tony alone, not from this angle, and Gibbs could only give her limited help whilst keeping pressure on the wound.

For all of Gibbs strength, for all of his training, for all of his trust that Kate would be back quickly with the necessary help, it did not stop the momentary panic as he was left alone in the car, holding the responsibility for Tony's life, quiet literally in his hand. It was an immeasurable length of time, the blink of an eye or the stretched slowness of an hour waiting for something important to happen. His skin went cold, his senses cut out, and his intestines tied themselves in random knots. He forced breath into his lungs against a reluctant weight, a feeling of helplessness enveloping him, and then, just as quickly as it had started, it was gone as he took control again. Tony was going to be all right. They would help him. He would be fine.

Anyone who knew Gibbs wouldn't believe that it could happen. Gibbs would never panic, not even for a moment. Had they been there, their position would have been reinforced, as there was little outward evidence that it happened at all. A muscle twitch in his jaw and a deeper than normal breath the only indications of the inner turmoil that had briefly gripped him. It was a weakness that he would never admit to; would analyse later, along with everything else that had happened in this case, but not now.

"Gibbs?" Tony's voice was getting weaker, breathy.

"I'm here Tony."

"The ambulance, how long?" He slurred the words slightly as he strained to hear the reply against the thundering in his ears. "Don't feel so good."

Gibbs was partly relieved by the question; it meant that Tony had picked up on at least part of his conversation with either Abby or Kate.

"Soon," Gibbs reassured, "Until then just take it easy. Don't try to move."

Tony didn't even try to give a nod, at that moment he was aware enough to realise how much that would hurt. He tried very hard to make sense of his surroundings, of how he had reached this point, how and why he was injured, but where the memories should have been there were only blank patches.

He knew that he was cold, ice cold. He verbalised the thought and was surprised by the response. Gibbs shrugged off his jacket, awkwardly because it seemed important to him to keep his hand on something, but Tony couldn't see what. It was too close to him to get a good look, besides he was too tired to really look. The coat was tucked around him, across his shoulders.

"Thanks," the word was barely formed. It took too much effort.

He tried to concentrate again on what he knew. He knew was that there was pain, his breathing wasn't normal, and the world refused to focus properly. He knew that Gibbs was there with him, being nice to him, that in itself told him that things were very wrong, and he was sure he'd heard Kate too.

"Kate?"

"It's OK she's getting help," Gibbs stated patiently. "We'll have you out of here soon."

Out of here. Where was here? Tony tried to force his eyes to focus, made out enough of the surrounding metal work to realise that he was in a vehicle of some sort. Had he been in a crash? Images of a motorbike in his path, of Jeffrey yanking the wheel across, of going face first into an airbag, assailed his senses. Yes, the prison break, and then the crash, and then running in chains and. . . Once it was started there was no stopping it. Someone inverted the bucket containing his memories and poured them down through his brain, the images descending with painful clarity. Until he saw the flash of the blade, felt his head yanked back, and he pulled the trigger on the gun. His gun hand was at an awkward angle, his arm wrapped around his body, the gun tucked under his other arm pointing through the seat. The sound strangely muffled by the upholstery as the hot muzzle of the barrel burned through his shirt to the layer of skin it was touching. He prayed he had the angle right, prayed he hadn't hesitated too long; waited for the burning sensation of the knife that would indicate that he had failed. His body jerked in reaction to the memories as he lived through it again. His thoughts shattering at the same point, but by now his body was too weak to deal with the emotional turmoil. His breathing rate kicked up short and shallow, and the world greyed and faded out as he was swept under by a sea of pain.

Gibbs watched the eyes glaze, the pupils moving rapidly, randomly. He felt the jerk as Tony's muscles tensed and fought to keep pressure on the wound. His entire focus was on Tony as he swore softly and tried to get some indication of a pulse.

"Kate?"

She turned to see Ducky walking towards her, his brow furrowed in deep concern. She pulled her attention away from the two officers she had enlisted to help her, as they spread a tarpaulin on the ground, and focussed on the doctor, a slight tinge of relief that he was there.

"It's Tony," she stated.

"I know. Abby filled me in. How bad?"

She didn't answer, couldn't answer. "We were about to get him out."

Ducky nodded.

She watched. She felt helpless, powerless. The two officers helped Gibbs lift him out, laid him on the tarpaulin. Gibbs kept the pressure on the wound, first with her scarf and then with a pressure bandage as Ducky examined her partner.

His skin was too pale, his breathing too shallow, his eyes closed, his limbs limp. The fear that had twisted her gut for the last day returned. Made somehow worse by the temporary relief of finding him alive. She fought back the tears, cursing her own weakness, wondering when he'd become so important to her. They couldn't lose him, not now.

At last the paramedics arrived, the frantic activity only emphasising further her own feelings of helplessness, only now Gibbs joined her. In stepping back he somehow ended up at her side. They both watched in silence, no thought of moving, of securing the crime scene. They watched as Tony was loaded on a stretcher, nothing more they could do now; watched as he was loaded into the back of the ambulance, no way to help; watched until the flashing red lights disappeared around the corner.

Kate turned and looked at the car, the fading siren still commanding her hearing. Blood splattered across the windows, spilled down the seat and pooled across the cream surface. There was too much of it.

Gibbs continued to watch as though he could see through the buildings, could follow the path of the ambulance, his expression unreadable.

Ducky studied the two of them for a moment, followed their gazes and guessed at their thoughts. He wished that he could reassure them. "Jethro, Kate." The three exchanged glances. "I think one of us should go to the hospital, young Anthony shouldn't be alone in case. . ." He didn't finish the sentence.

Gibbs scanned the area once round. "We'll all go," he stated quietly.


	4. Introspection

**Chapter 4:- Introspection**

For Kate getting into the car took far too long. Both Ducky and Gibbs were too professional to just walk away. Dammit, she was too professional to just walk away. It was the first time she could ever remember cursing herself, her friend, her boss for being good at what they did. But she cursed them now. The handover to the locals was completed in record time. Another NCIS team detailed to come out and complete the collecting and cataloguing of evidence. The local coroner would handle the transfer of White's body to Ducky's lab. They were in the car within minutes, but it was still too long.

Ducky drove. She wished Gibbs were driving. It was another testament to her state of mind. Gibbs would have got them there quicker. It was worth the risk. Not that Ducky did a bad job. She was surprised at how fast even he was moving, but they still weren't there. Which meant that Tony was alone, and he could. . . .Ducky seemed worried that he might. . .she couldn't quite bring herself to complete the thought, the enormity of the concept of losing him too much to encompass in a single word, in such a small word.

Besides he couldn't, not now, not after they had found him alive. She had talked to him, held his hand in hers; everything should be all right now. After living for so many hours on the edge, knowing that he was with a killer, knowing that he might already be dead. It seemed unfair that with finding him the uncertainty hadn't ended, unfair that they could lose him even now.

She looked across at Ducky, and her intestines seemed to tie in an even tighter knot as her breath caught in her throat. The deep lines of concern and concentration furrowed his brow. He wasn't one for exaggeration. He knew exactly what could go wrong and he was worried, very worried.

Her eyes turned back to the road, they were moving quickly, but it seemed like they were standing still, the road stretched in front of her as emotion clouded her perception. She tried to mentally prepare herself for the worst, tried to give form to the fear she'd held onto for the last day, tried to consider the implications of losing him. She couldn't. He had become too much a part of her life, a part of her work, integral to the team that she now identified with so strongly, with a sense of belonging that she had never, in all of her years as an agent, felt before. It was impossible to imagine him not being there, impossible to imagine the team without him. She chastised herself for even trying. He was still alive; she couldn't give up hope, not unless. . .not until. . . She let out a deep sigh and tried once more to gain control of the spiralling emotions.

Gibbs turned at the sound of the deeply drawn breath beside him, took a moment to study Kate's reactions. That morning she had tried to get him to admit his concern for Tony by giving voice to it herself, but words were unnecessary now. He could see the fear in her eyes, could sense the emotion barely held in check. He idly wondered if he were so easy to read; was he managing to maintain the façade of practiced indifference, or were the chinks in his own defences beginning to show?

Training, long experience and far too much practice had allowed him to bury his concern deep, to remain focussed on the task at hand. Combat taught you that skill swiftly; if it didn't then you probably wouldn't live long enough to learn it. As long as you had a purpose, a focus for your attention, then the suppression of emotion came easily. . .well, maybe that was an exaggeration, there was always a cost, but at least it came. So, for as long as he was searching for Tony and, when he found him, for as long as he'd been needed to keep Tony calm, to keep Tony alive, the emotions had remained buried, tightly controlled, only venturing to the surface briefly on two occasions, with little evidence to the outside world.

The first had been when he'd lifted the tarpaulin at the cabin. If Kate had been watching him then she would have seen the fear, the concern, flash across his features. The blood stained clothing they had found spoke of violence, of death, and, for a split second, he was sure that he would reveal Dinozzo's corpse beneath the stained cloth. Only a swallow and a twitch of his jaw bore testament to the fear giving way to relief when there was only a motorbike beneath.

The second time had been in the car when he'd realised that he held the younger agent's life in his hand. On neither occasion had he allowed the feelings fully to the surface. He couldn't afford to then, but the time was approaching when he would be forced to confront his own emotional responses. To analyse his actions and he knew that there were questions he would have to answer. Tony had almost. . .could still die and, however you cut it, that was ultimately his responsibility.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs was out of the car before it came to a complete standstill, had entered the hospital with Kate and Ducky struggling to follow in his wake, and was standing at the reception desk with his ID out, before Kate even had time to acknowledge that they had arrived. She was unsure what was said, the exchange between Gibbs and the young nurse who answered his questions was a blur of tone and emotion that never seemed to actually form into words. She was cocooned in her own world of thought, relying on Gibbs to take charge, her own interactions with the outside world unnecessary. Gibbs would lead; all she had to do was follow.

Gibbs was authoritative, demanding, the nurse acquiescing to his stronger personality, providing him with the answers he needed, ineffectual in her efforts to block his actions, as he moved passed her and through the doors into the ER. There were other protesters to their passage, but all seemed to back away to let Gibbs through, until finally they pushed back the doors to the trauma room.

It was like Kate's hearing had been switched back on. The bulbs were suddenly brighter. Tony lay on the table, wires and tubes snaked from him, his eyes were closed, his skin pale, he looked somehow smaller than she thought he should be.

"What are you people doing in here?" The tone was angry, as three of the four people attending to Tony turned to look at them. Kate felt suddenly self-conscious.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs held up his badge. "We're federal agents. . ."

Gibbs didn't get a chance to finish as the doctor interrupted angrily. "Well I can assure you there's no need to be in here guarding your prisoner. There's no chance he'll be escaping, he'll be lucky if we can keep him alive. So if you could just wait outside and give us a chance to. . ."

Gibbs was confused by the anger, by the comment, his gut tightened at the harsh confirmation that Tony might die, and he felt as well as heard Kate react just behind him.

"Doctor," his tone stopped her tirade as his eyes scanned for a name on her coat.

"Preston," she supplied.

"Dr. Preston, that man is not a prisoner, he's a federal agent. Special agent Anthony Dinozzo and he works for me." Gibbs stated, his tone surprisingly conciliatory. "I just. . .We just," he corrected himself, "want to know how he is?"

It was Dr. Preston's turn to look confused. "But I don't understand, the handcuffs," she turned to look back at Tony's wrist. "I just assumed. . ."

Gibbs followed her gaze, and to his horror realised that Tony still wore the metal bracelet around his wrist, the severed chain dangling. For a moment he couldn't believe that no one had noticed it, that no one had removed it. He looked at the people around the table then back at Dr Preston, all of these people thought that Tony was a criminal, the paramedics must have too, and there was something about that that was fundamentally wrong, that was painful. Gibbs strode over to the table, surprised by his own reaction as the emotional dam almost broke. If Tony was going to die, he was damn well not going to die in chains. He fumbled for his handcuff key in his pocket, gently taking hold of the cuff and turning it so as not to cause any further damage to the badly abraded wrist. "He was undercover," Gibbs explained. " handcuffed to. . ." 'Handcuffed to the man who did this to him' the thought completed as he pulled the cuff away, but the words did not. "He was undercover," Gibbs repeated, not prepared to analyse or explain further. He looked up, met the doctor's gaze. "How is he?" he asked.

Dr. Preston's expression softened, as she realised she was not talking to people who were indifferent to her patient, these were people who cared for him. She silently cursed herself for being so blunt. She glanced across at the monitor, gesturing for them to move out into the hall as her colleagues continued to work. "We're still having trouble stabilising his blood pressure and controlling the bleeding. He'll be going up to surgery in a few minutes," she explained, "and they'll try to repair the damage." She frowned, looking directly into Gibbs' eyes. "He was conscious when he came in, but it was almost as if he wasn't fighting it, like he'd given up." She paused, looked thoughtful for a moment. "I just assumed that it was because he knew that he had been caught, was going to jail. We see that a lot, it breeds despondency, but if he's a federal agent." She paused again, taking in Kate and Ducky's worried expressions before returning to Gibbs. "At least half of survival in cases like this is mental, and he didn't seem to. . "

"Can I talk to him before he goes to surgery?" Gibbs asked.

The doctor thought for only a moment. "I don't suppose it can hurt, but he keeps drifting in and out so he may not hear you."

Gibbs nodded and followed the doctor back into the room.

Kate watched as Gibbs leaned down, and, as she'd seen him do many times with suspects, he whispered something into Tony's ear. She doubted if anyone else in the room heard what he said. After a moment he stepped back and watched silently as the gurney was pushed quickly from the room.


	5. He Knew The Risks

**Chapter 5- He Knew The Risks**

Gibbs gave himself a moment. He hoped that his words would be enough, that they would make Tony fight. He needed him to fight. The fear bubbled fully to the surface as he remembered the look in Tony's eyes. The brief glance he'd given him before he looked away. He wanted to deny it but he couldn't. He had seen it before, seen strong men, men that he thought nothing could faze, with that look. The look that told him something had reached their souls; had penetrated to the very core of their being. The haunted presence just behind the eyes was the look of a man standing on the edge of sanity, holding only the most tenuous of bonds with reality.

Dinozzo had had that look.

It was the reason he had not realised that there was more to Tony's pale complexion and lack of animation, the reason he had left him in the car. He had seen it, had known at least part of what it meant, but he did not want to believe it. Believing it would mean acknowledging the weakness, the human frailty in even the best of men. Believing it would mean acknowledging the possibility that it could happen to anyone; could happen to him. Believing it would mean acknowledging his own accountability for this whole sorry mess. Walking away was easier; denial was easier. Maybe when he returned the old Tony would be back and he could chew him out for not following procedure. Maybe?

So he had walked away, left him to bleed, cost precious time that could be vital. Why?

He knew why. He had come too close to losing an agent, too close to losing Dinozzo, too damn close.

He still might.

The thought dragged him uncomfortably back to the present. He turned to see Kate and Ducky watching him. Something in their expressions clicked a switch in his brain. His own vulnerabilities uncomfortably close to the surface. He scanned the room again; suddenly it felt small, oppressive. The introspection was costing him. He was a man who liked to be in control, a man of action. In the last twenty-four hours he had done damn little that was of any use, and he was certainly not in control.

He needed to get away from here, needed to do something, anything except wait. He strode over to the door

"Kate, stay here and keep us updated on Tony's progress." Gibbs paused to address her.

Kate was still learning to keep up with the rapid switches in Gibbs persona. She was slightly taken aback. "You're leaving?" she asked, a slight incredulous edge creeping into her tone. She'd thought they were clear about why they had come here. Tony's condition was still critical. Why would Gibbs leave now, before they were sure? She searched his expression for an answer, but found nothing but the impassive mask that Gibbs was so good at it was almost an art.

"Yes, Agent Todd, there's still plenty of work to do before we can wrap this up, and I'm sure that Ducky would appreciate the chance to get on with it so that he can get home before midnight." He turned to Ducky for confirmation.

Ducky hesitated, but he had known Gibbs for too long for the blank expression to work. He read the tenseness in the muscles, the veins that stood out ever so slightly on his neck, the clouds that drifted deep within his eyes. Gibbs needed a release; a safety vent and he would not find it pacing the hallways of the hospital. He really wanted to stay, wanted to wait for the news on his young colleague, and he knew that deep down that was what Gibbs wanted, but he knew equally that Gibbs couldn't do it.

"Yes, of course Jethro you're right," he agreed, turning to look at Kate, he kept his own expression completely open. He took her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze, as he contemplated the vulnerability of the young, and to him everyone seemed young these days. "You'll be sure to let us know when young Anthony comes out of surgery?"

Kate recovered her composure quickly, nodding. "Of course I will."

"Good, then we'll. . ." He turned to look for Gibbs but he was already halfway down the corridor.

"You coming Ducky," Gibbs shouted over his shoulder, not seeming to care one way or another on his single-minded path towards the exit.

Ducky gave Kate's hand one more reassuring squeeze. "He's young and strong, that counts in his favour," he stated reassuringly. He tried hard not to call to mind the number of corpses he'd examined over the years for whom that description applied. He looked to Gibbs retreating form. "I'd better go."

Kate watched as first Gibbs and then Ducky disappeared from view and she was alone. There were lots of people around; the ER was bustling. Another trauma patient crashed through the doors to her left with a whole army of medical personal fighting to retain life, but she was alone.

NCISNCIS

The journey had been remarkably quiet. Ducky had spoken at length on the attributes of the various artefacts that had been recovered, cataloguing the history of the ancient peoples of the Middle East who had produced them. The rambling had given a familiarity that was comfortable rather than irritating, and Gibbs mind had bathed in the reassuring pools of sound, allowing them to wash away some of the tension.

The shrill tones of Gibbs' Cell phone finally cut through Ducky's rendering of a tale about King Gilgamesh of Mesopotamia, and his quest to find cedar wood for his city. The two men momentarily froze; Ducky took a moment to make eye contact before turning his attention back to the road. The moment was enough; this could be Kate, with news about Tony.

"Gibbs," he answered abruptly, his expression turning from apprehensive to thunderous anger as he listened to the reply. "No," he stated, bringing the edge of the phone down with a mighty smack on the dashboard. He raised it up. "I. ." another mighty crack as his arm came down full force. "Do. . ." another strike. The remainder of the sentence was punctuated with a raising and smashing of the hapless cell phone after each word. "not. ." thump, "own. ." thump, "a. . ." thump, "Volkswagon . .." thump, "Beetle. . ."

The silence that followed seemed complete although there must have been traffic noise around them, the hum from their own engine, surface noise from the road, neither man heard it.

Gibbs stared at the mangled piece of metal and plastic that he held in his hand, the victim of more than twenty-four hours of frustration and pent up emotion. The silence stretched.

"Feel better now?" Ducky finally asked.

Gibbs ignored the question. "Guess I'll have to ask Abby for a new phone."

Ducky wasn't going to let him off that easy. "It's not your fault you know?"

Gibbs turned to look at him. "You going to tell me he knew the risks?" He asked pointedly.

"He did." Ducky pointed out reasonably.

"He didn't know we'd chained him to a psychopath who got his kicks slicing people's throats open."

"Neither did you." He paused. "If you'd known you wouldn't have let him take the risk."

Gibbs sigh was long. He knew that Ducky was right. He'd been giving orders for long enough to know that you had to act on the information was available at the time, and you couldn't blame yourself if that information was wrong, there lay the path to self-destruction. Normally he could rationalise all of this himself, a standard debrief was all that he needed, but there was something about his current team, something about Dinozzo, that gave an extra dimension to their working relationship. It was more than just superior and subordinate. Tony was somehow more important to him than just another man under his command. He wasn't sure why the younger agent got to him on such a deep level but he did, the protective instinct was little short of paternal.

"I know." He stated quietly. This wasn't an admission he'd make in front of anyone other than Ducky. "It's just, if he dies. . ." He allowed the thought to hang.


	6. You Won't Regret This

J

Chapter 6: You Won't Regret This 

Kate stood, leaning at an awkward angle, her elbows resting against the wall, her hands meeting in a huddle around the long forgotten cup of coffee as though there were still some lingering fire of warmth in its cold depths. Her eyes were partly glazed as she once again ran through everything she had done on the case from the beginning. From the moment Tony had proposed the whole crazy scheme of letting White escape so that he would lead them to the antiquities. . . .

"I'm telling you it's the only way boss," Tony stated. "By the time we've followed the conventional routes of enquiry those items will be sitting in someone's private collection, and they'll never see the light of day again, but if we let White go. . . Track him somehow." Tony had that look of childlike glee in his eye that he always got when he had an idea that he thought might work. It was always as if he was about to embark on some great adventure, his skin ablaze with tiny sparks of energy that you couldn't so much see as sense. It was an energy that children had at moments of real excitement, Christmas morning, the first day of a holiday, the moments before a party. Adults rarely had it, but Tony, well Tony seemed to have picked up on everybody else's share.

"And just how do you propose to track him?" Gibbs asked.

Kate remembered looking surprised, she had half expected Gibbs to reject the idea out of hand with some put down that ran from glib to seething, depending on his mood, as he usually did when Tony came up with a plan. The fact that he was asking for it to be developed further indicated that he thought it might have some merit. Kate allowed her own mind to drift, was it viable? In retrospect she wished that she'd convinced herself and then the others that the answer to that question was no, but that wasn't how it had played out.

Tony tried not to betray his own surprise; he was used enough to Gibbs reactions to his plans, that he generally didn't invest too much effort in thinking them through, since he was usually shot down in flames. His excitement hitched up a notch at Gibbs interest, and his mind truly began to work on logistics. This was what he lived for. This was when he really came alive. The air around him crackled. "I'm sure Abby can come up with some miniature GPS tracer. We could arrange for it to be sewn into White's prison uniform, then all we'd have to do is follow him."

"And if he changes clothes?" Gibbs asked.

Tony's brow creased in thought, his bright smile fading slightly.

"It'll never work," Kate stated.

Tony turned to look at her, momentarily forgetting Gibbs' objection. His tone registered annoyance. "And just why is that Kate?"

"You haven't met White have you?"

McGee and Kate had collected White from police custody, and Tony had been following up an ultimately fruitless lead on Lane, when Gibbs had interviewed him. "No, why?"

"Well, put it this way he'd made McGee here seem like a tough all action hero." Kate supplied dryly. "There's no way he'd make an escape on his own. Even if you left the cell door unlocked and removed all the guards. He'd probably sit in the cell and wait until someone turned up to lock it again."

Tony looked first to McGee and then to Gibbs with a questioning expression, an unspoken request for confirmation of the voracity of Kate's assertions. They both gave slight nods, but Tony wasn't going to be thwarted that easily. "Then someone will just have to help him escape." His excitement level jumped again as the plan formed clearly in his mind. If Gibbs said yes then this would be even better than his original idea. He'd get to go undercover, take part in a prison break. . .the thoughts were forming so fast he could barely keep up. "We can set up a break whilst he's in transit to his arraignment."

"There's still no guarantee he'll take part, I'm telling you this guy has some serious anxiety issues." Kate tried again.

"Then we just make sure he has no choice." Tony supplied patiently, holding Kate's gaze for a second as he issued the non-verbal challenge for her to find something wrong with this latest amendment. "If he's handcuffed to the prisoner that makes the break, then he'll have to go with him." He turned briefly to look at Gibbs, to ensure that he had his superior's attention, before returning to Kate. "Of course that would be a tough assignment, whoever it is will have to win White's trust, get him to lead them to the antiquities. It would take someone with charm, charisma. .intelligence." He flashed his best smile in Kate and McGee's direction as he spoke.

"Yes but since they still don't allow mixed prisons, we can't send Kate." Gibbs stated, purely for the entertainment value. "Besides he's already met her, he knows she's an agent."

Neither Kate nor McGee could stifle their snorts of laughter as Tony turned back to face Gibbs whose expression was perfectly neutral.

"I was.. . .er. . .actually thinking of me boss." Tony stated, looking for some betrayal of the fact that Gibbs had known that. He had to have known that.

Gibbs made him sweat for a moment. It was a risky course of action, but they had precious little else to go on and time was most definitely not on their side. McGee had already quoted the statistics to all of them. If the goods weren't recovered within forty-eight hours then there was very little chance that they would be recovered at all. The fact that they only had one suspect in custody also went against them. Lane could easily sell the goods on without his partner, and they couldn't let that happen. This was one shipment that had to be recovered.

This was a political hot potato of the worst kind. The Iraqi's would never believe that the goods had been stolen, and would insist on their return, and who knew what the ramifications would be when that couldn't happen. The fallout would leave the politicians looking for someone to blame and the Navy and NCIS would be directly in the firing line.

What Tony was proposing was risky. Gibbs knew that, they barely knew anything about Jeffrey or his partner. It also had a high risk of failure. The problem was it was the only thing they had come up with that stood any chance of success.

Gibbs eyes narrowed. "Talk to Abby. You have one hour to set this up and then I want a full report."

Tony had punched the air at that point, his thousand Watt smile lighting up his face as he repeated in a semi- whisper. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" The self-centred moment over, he had looked Gibbs in the eye. "You won't regret this," he'd stated before heading out of the room, a pronounced bounce in his step as that boundless energy sought a release again.

Kate stared at the point where floor met wall on the opposite side of the corridor, the phrase echoing in her mind. Tony's voice repeating in crystal clear excited tones. 'You won't regret this.' She wondered if Gibbs did, wondered if in hindsight he would have let Tony go.

"Excuse me?" The voice to her left made her start. She looked up forcing vision, blurred by lack of use as her thoughts had pulled her mind elsewhere, back to some semblance of focus.

"You're here with Special agent Dinozzo aren't you? You were in the ER with him," Dr. Preston asked.

Kate pushed herself to standing taking her weight off the wall. Her muscles protested the injustice of being left in unnatural positions for so long with aches and twinges. She shifted about attempting to loosen them. "Yes," she stated, her voice slightly breathless as her mouth went dry. She said a silent prayer, as a soft mantra began to repeat in her head. 'Please don't let it be bad news.'

"He's out of surgery," Dr Preston stated.

Kate allowed breath back into her lungs and attempted to quell the tight churning of her abdomen. He was still alive.

"You can see him if you'd like."

Kate nodded gratefully, and then realised that the doctor had studiously avoided any comments about his condition. "How is he?"

"Wounds to the neck are always very tricky . . ." Dr. Preston began, pausing as she chose her words carefully. "We've done everything we can it's up to him now." She paused, trying to find something more positive to say. "It's a pity agent Gibbs isn't still here. Whatever he said certainly had a positive effect, I'm not sure he would have made it through the surgery without it."

Kate nodded; she had almost forgotten that. What had Gibbs said? The question kept her mind occupied as she followed the doctor down the corridor to the ICU room.

"Just a few minutes," Dr Preston said.

Kate nodded and took a deep breath before entering the room.


	7. Punishing Thoughts

Author's note: Really sorry for the long delay again! RL excuses I'm afraid, exam marking and reports season! Things are easing off now though so the updates should go back to being more regular. As ever I would really like to know what you think and many many thanks to those who've taken the time and trouble to comment. It means a lot thanks-J

**Chapter 7:-Punishing thoughts.**

"Abby" Gibbs spoke as he entered the lab, his presence, as ever sweeping in before him. "Have you heard anything from Kate?"

"She's not with you?" Abby asked redundantly, looking up from the microscope, and forgetting for the moment the fibre specimen she had been keeping herself busy by examining.

Gibbs gave her his best version of a pained expression.

"No because if she was you wouldn't be asking me if she'd called," Abby verbalised the thought process as she allowed her brain to catch up.

Gibbs let out a small exasperated sigh. "We left her at the hospital to keep us updated on Tony."

Abby didn't miss the significance of Gibbs using Tony's first name. She stared for a moment. "So wouldn't she call you. . ." her voice momentarily trailed off as Gibbs dropped the shattered remains of his cell onto the desk in front of her. ". . .first." The sentence completed despite the obvious redundancy, as her mind rapidly processed the chances of retrieving the SIM card and any data from the shattered remains. "Oh!" seemed the only appropriate phrase. She looked up the gleam of curiosity in her eye. "What happened?"

"That would be one too many calls about the Volkswagen Beetle that Gibbs isn't selling." Ducky supplied from behind. Unlike Gibbs Ducky could enter a room without announcing his presence so Abby wasn't sure how closely the pathologist had been following.

Gibbs expression remained neutral. "A problem that McGee was supposed to be sorting out for me." He raised his voice slightly. "McGee?"

McGee hurriedly appeared from behind the bank of computers. "Er. ..Yes boss?"

"How's that going?" he asked.

"That?. . What?" For an incredibly intelligent man it sometimes took McGee a remarkable amount of time to process what he was being asked. He seemed to study Gibbs expression, before glancing down at the shattered remains of the phone as his mind caught up with processing the last minute of conversation "Oh the er. . .just a moment," he stated disappearing back behind the bank of computers. "OK this cell phone is on a new number," he spoke rapidly as he walked. "I've updated the department database and informed everyone who needs to know." The words flowed out nervously, so that he reached the end of the sentence at the same point that he arrived in front of Gibbs proffering the new cell in front of him. "I've also copied across your address book and changed the ring to the one that you prefer." He only looked up to meet Gibbs' gaze when he had finished. He waited for a reaction.

Gibbs, as ever, made him wait, his expression neutral. It was a few seconds before he reached out to accept the phone. "Kate?" he asked.

"Still speed dial 4," McGee stated, rapidly, his head jerking forward slightly in his customary display of nerves when faced with Gibbs scrutiny, "but she may have it turned off. I put the hospital number into your contacts, just in case."

There was a still silence; the atmosphere in the room prickled with expectation as everyone waited to see how Gibbs' would react.

Gibbs nodded, breaking the mood instantly as he turned to hand the phone to Abby. "Call the hospital, see if you can find anything out." He looked back at McGee. "McGee, find out where we're up to with cataloguing the retrieved antiquities and then do what you can to help." There was a momentary pause as he directed his attention to the pathologist. "Ducky. . ."

"Yes, Jethro I have two autopsies to complete." Ducky stated, letting out a short sigh. "You're right of course," he exhaled deeply through his nose and gave a slight nod, as he gave voice to Gibbs' intentions, "we should all try to keep ourselves busy." He began to move away, turning to walk backwards as he spoke. "You will of course keep me up to date on young Anthony's condition?"

Abby paused from the task of dialling. "As soon as we know anything you will," she stated with her customary rising inflection.

Gibbs nodded curtly. "OK, we've all got work to do." He began to walk away. Again the contrast between Ducky and himself emphasised, as he did not turn to make his parting comment. "If anyone needs me I'll be in MTAC."

Abby made a thumbs up sign to Gibbs' retreating back, acknowledging the pointlessness of the gesture even as she did it. Then again, with Gibbs you never knew, sometimes she was convinced that he really did have eyes in the back of his head. Her expression changed as the line connected. "Hello, yes I'm ringing on behalf of NCIS, about the condition of one of our agents. . ."

McGee stared at Abby for a moment, amazed at the switch; she sounded like a receptionist or PA as she spoke in her best telephone voice. Telephone. . . the thoughts connected as he stared at Gibbs' new cell phone which Abby was currently using. How did Gibbs' do that? How did he make you want his approval so much? How did he get away with not giving you any, and have you focussed on the next assignment so quickly that you almost forgot that you needed it? He dismissed the questions as rhetorical; it was not something he was ever going to be able to work out. It was the indefinable quality that made Gibbs such a good leader.

His mind switched to more important considerations; Had Gibbs approved of his actions? Would he have approved if he hadn't smashed his cell into little pieces? He hadn't said anything bad; he had accepted the phone and moved on. It took only a moment to process those facts into Gibbs' version of approval, because if Gibbs didn't approve then you'd know about it. In fact no reaction was pretty much praise. He rarely said anything complementary which gave it all the more meaning when he did, because, of course, gaining Gibbs approval was somehow important, and there he was back at the beginning; How did he do that?

His attention was pulled back to Abby as she flipped the phone shut, her brow creased with a very unAbby like expression.

"Bad news," he asked his own gut tightening in concern, it certainly didn't look like good news.

Abby was subdued, her tone lacking its usual inflection. "He's out of surgery but they still have his condition listed as critical. They wouldn't give me any more details because I'm not a relative, but the nurse said all they could do now was wait."

McGee nodded, that was something they were getting plenty of practice at.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs stepped barely into the elevator so that he could feel the doors closing behind him. He needed to feel the shut off from the world, the metal sealing his isolation. Alone for the first time since they had learned that Tony was chained to a killer, he sagged back for a moment against the cool metal, but he knew that he couldn't afford to stay there, couldn't afford to let people see. . . . He stepped forward, hitting the button that would stop the cube of metal in limbo between the floors. The perfect metaphor for where he normally kept his feelings, trapped, suspended in a place where they were sealed off from the outside. It was a strategy that normally served him well. Feelings, emotion could get in the way, stop you from getting the job done, and the bottom line for him was always the job, stopping the terror, solving the crime, seeing that justice was served, whatever the assignment, whatever the cost, the bottom line was completing it successfully.

So he should be pleased, shouldn't he? They had recovered all of the antiquities, arrested the buyer and both the perpetrators were dead, a perfect conclusion, they had even saved the taxpayer the cost of a trial. Jeffrey White had turned out to be a cold blooded killer, had even killed his own partner, he deserved to die. So case closed, success all round, time to gather the team and celebrate. Except this time the bottom line didn't seem like quite enough and if Dinozzo died. . . . .

He closed his eyes and let the emotion briefly to the surface. His knuckles clenched white as he dealt with the gut twisting pain of nearly losing someone he cared about.

Not that he would ever let Dinozzo know that he cared. It was a dangerous thing to admit even to yourself given the risks of his chosen profession, given the fact that he had the responsibility of sending his team into life threatening situations. Letting yourself care just wasn't sensible, wasn't efficient, and for someone like him, who had a reputation for being a bastard, it just shouldn't happen.

It shouldn't happen.

He shouldn't care.

At least not this much, indifference should rule, he was just doing his job. Tony knew the risks, accepted the risks, but the image that flashed into his mind didn't seem like an acceptable risk. Tony was lying on his back in the mud with his throat slit clean through to his spine; open empty eyes gazed at the sky. Gibbs squeezed his own eyes shut, forcing the face to morph back from Tony's to that of Lane, forcing his suddenly panicked breathing to slow. It wasn't Tony, not Tony, Tony had survived.

A brief calm settled, the beads of sweat on his forehead suddenly feeling cold, but his mind refused to give in, refused to stop punishing him. The image switched to the blood-splattered car, to the streaming blood from Tony's very real neck wound. To the reality of leaving him sitting there bleeding because something about the look in his eye had frightened him, and Gibbs wasn't used to being frightened.

'Dammit,' he slammed his fist into the plate that made up part of the elevator wall, leaving a satisfying dent in the thin metal. He just wanted Dinozzo back. His team together again so they could get back to what passed for normal, and there lay the crux of what was really bothering him, of what was forcing such uncharacteristic emotion out to the surface, the real reason he had been scared by Tony's reactions, the haunted look in Tony's eyes, because even if Tony survived physically, he could still be broken, and Gibbs wasn't sure that they'd ever get all of Tony back again.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	8. Waking

**Chapter 8 Waking**

Gibbs strode into the darkened room, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image on the main screen. It appeared to be a live stream showing the outside of several warehouses. Small black clad figures flitted from shadow to shadow, hugging the contours of whatever they could use for cover as they moved forwards in short bursts.

He moved across to the vacant seat next to director Morrow, the man was studying the screen intently and made no acknowledgement of Gibbs' arrival. Gibbs sat and turned his own attention to the screen.

It was a full minute before Morrow spoke. "New training scenario," he stated with a slight nod toward the screen. We're working with the SWAT units in San Diego to see what we can learn from each other."

"San Diego?" Gibbs questioned. "Has California PD been doing some new cutting edge training that I was unaware of?"

"It was a lot easier getting people to volunteer to go there in February than it was getting them to go up to Boston," Morrow delivered sardonically, not that it wasn't the truth. "And I think it does us good to look at how other agencies operate once in a while. We are all, theoretically, on the same side."

Gibbs nodded, wincing slightly as a stun grenade took down one of the agents on the screen. "Us or them?" he asked.

Morrow allowed a small smile. "I think we may be playing dirty."

There was silence again as both men continued to watch the staged hostage situation play out on the screen for a little longer.

"How is he?" Morrow asked, still not looking at Gibbs.

Gibbs felt his insides clench at the question, he let out a short sigh. "Still touch and go. He's holding his own but it's a waiting game."

Morrow nodded, the gesture was partially redundant, the two men rarely looked at each other. There was no need, they held ultimate respect, each for the other, recognising and understanding how the other thought. It was a meeting of equals that should have been skewed by the difference in rank, but it was somehow irrelevant, as were the social niceties of normal conversation. Eye contact was unnecessary, dangerous, as it may release emotion that would change their carefully balanced relationship.

Gibbs felt the nod; there was a little more silence.

"I received a complaint," Morrow stated matter-of-factly. "The Deputy secretary insists that I discipline you." He paused for a moment. "You really succeeded in pissing her off, which is quite impressive since you never actually spoke to her."

Gibbs smiled, cocking his head sideways slightly. "Yes, well I'd like to think I train my team well."

"Of course I'm not sure what pissed her off more, the fact that you told her what to do, or the fact that you successfully recovered all of the stolen property, eliminated both of the suspects and apprehended the buyer." It was Morrow's turn to allow a slight smile. "Even she had to recognise that there wasn't going to be any reprimand after that." He paused for a moment. "Not that I encourage insubordinate behaviour in any of my agents you understand?"

"Of course not Sir." Gibbs own smile was slightly crooked.

"Good, as long as that's understood." There was a great deal of understanding that passed between the two men and very little of it bore any relation to the words that they spoke, but if they were ever asked then they could truthfully repeat conversations without inviting any repercussions. It was all part of a very complex game whose rules were understood implicitly by everyone who played, and it was the only game where every player maintained plausible deniability that they ever willingly took part.

Both men turned their attention back to the screen, wincing as another two of the SWAT operatives hit the floor; they had apparently run into a rope, which suddenly appeared at chest height across their path.

"So, who's supposed to be doing the learning here?" Gibbs asked.

Morrow shook his head. "Dammit, I told Gibson to play fair." There was a slight pause. "He's like you, never could stand to lose."

Somehow everything was hitting Gibbs at a tangent. The comment, under normal circumstances, would have elicited a smile and a 'there's nothing wrong with always being on the winning side' from Gibbs, but not today. Today the word 'lose' had only one association that his mind was prepared to allow him to entertain. He might lose Tony.

Morrow sensed the shift, the unusual reaction to his words. He glanced across at Gibbs, for most people the man was an enigma, his reactions unpredictable, but that had never been the case for him, up until this point he could have written out their interactions before they happened. Gibbs dealt with authority in a certain way; reacted in a certain way, normally Morrow had those reactions pegged. You didn't get to his position without being an expert at reading people. He read Gibbs now, the concern etched in every fibre of the man's being, despite his attempts to cover it. He had always known that Gibbs cared about the agents in his team, had a better team ethic going than any other agent in the service, but he hadn't until this moment realised just how deep that bond went. If agent Dinozzo died then he'd be losing more than just a good field agent. He'd be losing part of Gibbs as well. He looked back up at the screen, aware that an uncharacteristic close scrutiny could push the conversation to a place that neither man could afford to go.

"When you go out to the hospital you can pass on my congratulations to Special Agent Dinozzzo on a job well done," he stated quietly, trying to instil confidence into his words.

"I will Sir," Gibbs replied, inwardly shaking his head at the futility of the comment if what he suspected about Tony's mental state were true, but making no outward sign of it. He could read Morrow just as well as Morrow could read him, and he knew that his superior now understood some of the situation. He looked back up at the screen, gaining a new sense of determination because the only alternative was despair. "And you're right, I am always on the winning team."

NCISNCIS

Tony felt the hot muzzle flash, felt the bomb go off that exploded his mind into a thousand tiny fragments, heard himself scream the name of the man he had just killed, his whole body jerked convulsively as he raised up. His eyes opened onto a completely incongruous set of images as blurred shapes came into focus; his disorientation complete as jumbled images from his memory mixed with reality, interspersed with an awareness of other sensations; the pain from his neck, a gentle pressure on his chest, soft soothing tones that slowly morphed into words.

"Tony, it's OK, take it easy you're safe, you're in hospital, just take it easy."

"Kate?" He relaxed back and soft fluffy clouds moved to meet him. No, not clouds pillows, he was on a bed, in a hospital room and Kate was there, and she said he was safe. It was good to be safe, nice to be safe, floating away. . .

Kate let out a sigh as she watched him drift under again, simultaneously disappointed and relieved. She wanted him awake, wanted. . . no, needed to talk to him, another small step in the reassurance that he would survive this, would recover. But equally she couldn't stand to see him in so much pain, physical and emotional.

She waited until he settled fully before sinking back into the seat beside him. At least this time he had recognised her, up until now he had always surfaced just enough to take some nightmare world as his reality, and Kate had been shaken by the terror in his expression. She wasn't sure what out of the last few hours had been worse, watching him lie there inanimate, drifting on the edge of life in a pale stillness, or watching now as he recovered a little of his strength, awakening to disorienting nightmares.

The quiet had allowed her time to contemplate, to study, every mark, every bruise on his battered body. The small cut on his forehead from the bus crash, the purple line that ran across his chest from the seatbelt of the SUV crash, the bandages around his wrist from where the cuffs had rubbed the skin away. Then there were the many other bruises dotted across his arms and torso, from the crashes? from a fall?. Whatever, he'd clearly had a tough time of it, and given how it had almost ended. . . she'd cut off the thought before it could elicit any tears, not that that lasted, not past the first waking nightmare. The tears had flowed freely then, as she'd tried to calm him down, tried to help banish the demons that haunted his expression. They'd flowed until he settled again, until the adrenaline cut out and she'd sunk back into the chair returning to her contemplation.

His injuries couldn't explain any of this; he'd been hurt before, he'd had to shoot people before, he'd had to kill in self-defence, so what was different this time? However much she considered it, she couldn't explain his reactions now; she couldn't explain his reactions in the car. She stared into his face, something had happened to him that had triggered emotion at a level she had never seen, not even in herself, never mind in Tony, a level that exposed his vulnerabilities. She drew in a sharp breath as she realised for the first time that she was stronger than him, emotionally much stronger. She stared at him again, as she finally reached the conclusion that Gibbs had drawn within a minute of seeing Tony in the car, something had penetrated through the façade of strength that Anthony Dinozzo presented to the world and there was a chance that it could destroy him.

"Fight it Tony," she whispered to him. "You have to fight it."

NCISNCIS

Kate stood on the corridor waiting, she had to leave each time a nurse or a doctor came to examine him. As ever her thoughts drifted elsewhere, reliving different pats of the last twenty-four hours, analysing every stage to see if there was anything they could have done differently. Nonetheless she moved across as soon as Dr. Preston emerged from the room, her stomach flitting with tiny butterflies as it had each time as she waited for updates on his condition, each time she had been disappointed, but not this time, Dr Preston's demeanour gave away the fact that the news was more positive before she spoke.

"He's doing much better," the Doctor stated with a smile, "I'm going to upgrade his condition from critical to serious. He'll still need careful monitoring over the next few hours but I think he's turned the corner. He has a good chance for a full recovery."

Kate allowed a deep breath to escape; it wasn't quite a sigh, as she felt the relief slide through her system, long tensed muscles relaxing slightly.

Dr Preston glanced back into the room. "Of course I'm a little concerned that he hasn't regained consciousness. The sedatives should be out of his system by now and we should be seeing a little more awareness."

Kate followed her gaze. "He wasn't making much sense when we found him," she stated. "I think whatever he went through was pretty traumatic."

The Doctor nodded. "I know, he was very agitated down in trauma and I've seen some of the nightmares, he's been having." She turned her gaze back to Kate. "You seem to have a settling influence on him that's why I instructed the nurses to let you stay."

Kate stared for a moment, Dr Preston's earlier words coming back to her 'just a few minutes' had been the instruction and that had been about three hours ago. "I. . ." she began, uncertain of what to say, but a look into the doctor's eyes told her that she didn't need to say anything other than. "Thank you."

"I don't suppose there's any chance that I can persuade you to go home now and get some rest yourself. You look dead on your feet?"

Kate shook her head. "There should be someone there when he wakes up," she stated. 'He's going to need them' the unverbalised thought completed.

Dr. Preston looked into the room once more. "He's lucky to have friends like you."

The comment elicited an uncharacteristically bitter response as dark tendrils of guilt pulled at Kate's thoughts. Yeah, Tony was real lucky; his 'friends' and colleagues chained him to a serial killer and then left him alone for best part of a day without backup so that he ended up with his throat slit. Then just for good measure they left him to bleed for a while to minimise his chances of survival, yeah, real good friends: the sort of friends that made enemies redundant.

"Agent Todd"

"Agent Todd," the second time the name was spoken with more urgency and Kate's focus was jerked back.

"I'm sorry I must have drifted off for a minute," Kate stated, giving her head a slight shake. "You were saying?"

"You said you wanted to be here when he woke up," Dr. Preston stated, her head turning to look through the open doorway once more. "So I think we'd both better get back in the room."

Kate followed the Doctor's gaze to where Tony's open eyes met hers.


	9. Numb

**Chapter 9: Numb**

Kate moved to enter the room but a hand on her arm stopped her. She pulled her gaze from Tony's and looked back to Dr. Preston.

" I really can only give you a few minutes this time, then I need to do some neural checks," the doctor stated earnestly.

Kate nodded her understanding. "Thank you," she stated, recognising the break in protocol, the latitude she was being given because of Tony's fragile mental condition, and the trust that was being placed in her. She was about to continue, when the doctor spoke again.

"If you need me I'll be right here."

Kate gave a firmer nod this time, to acknowledge that she understood. Understood that she might not be able to get through to him, understood that he might need more than just a friend. She clenched her fist, her knuckles whitening, as though the physical tension in her muscles could bolster her resolve. She drew in a deep breath, hating every moment of the walk back into the room, because there wasn't another emotion that could deal with her trepidation.

Tony met and held her gaze as she crossed to the bed, his expression unchanging, almost as if he didn't recognise her. Kate's insides did a couple of double back flips as a whole new set of fears took control.

"Hey Tony," she said, softly as she reached his side, and that was when she realised that his eyes weren't meeting hers, not properly; he wasn't looking at her he was looking through her. He gave no response to her greeting and she almost panicked, almost called for the doctor, almost grabbed him to shake some sense into him; anything rather than gaze into eyes that stared right through her.

Instead she drew a deep breath and tried again. "Tony," her voice was a little louder, her tone a little sharper, "hey."

Tony had different images playing on multiple screens in his head, except they weren't just images, they came with sound and smells and sensation and they all fought to take their slot centre stage, main feature, spiralling round moving in and out, like some crazed producer, who'd just learnt how to mix images was playing in his mind. He tried to control them, he really did. Tried to separate the images and concentrate on the reality of his surroundings, but he couldn't seem to stop the spiral. The tension, the blood, running, gunshots, Lane's hot breath on his shoulder, Kate staring down at him, her face etched with concern, checking the loaded gun, the warm spray of blood that settled over him like a gentle shower, Jeffrey's blood. Jeffrey's last words "I just want you to know, when I said no one ever treated me like you did. . . I meant that." His own softly spoken, "I know." The jerk on his neck, the deafening roar of gunshots in the close confines of the car, the warm spray of blood that settled over him. . ."Tony?"

The familiar tones finally cut through, gave him a focus, he grasped at the image that matched with the words, reeled it in from the periphery of his vision, used its familiarity to hold the picture steady. He licked dry lips, barely forming enough moisture to make a difference. "Hey Kate," he returned the greeting.

Kate almost sagged forward as the tensely held breath escaped. Eyes finally focussed on her and she felt the panic ease slightly. Her mind scrambled around, struggled for what to say next, finally settling on. "How're you feeling?" Lame, she knew, more likely to provoke a lie than an honest answer, especially from Tony, but she had to say something, and, staring into those haunted eyes, it was the best that she could come up with.

Tony studied her face as he struggled for an answer. Had she been crying? Whatever had happened it must have been bad then, if Kate had been crying. . .She was strong, almost stoic. He'd seen tears well in her eyes on several occasions but never actually fall, and there were streaks through her make-up on both cheeks. It must have been bad. He didn't remember all of it, only flashes after he'd fired the gun, he remembered that clearly, didn't want to remember that. . .He forced himself back to the question, couldn't face a return of the spiralling images at the moment and that meant using all of his concentration to hold his focus. How was he feeling? "Tired," he finally answered. It was the only thing he could say that he truly felt. Where there should have been emotion there only seemed to be an empty void, as though a chasm had opened up and swallowed all of his feelings and left a hollow emptiness in their place. "A little tired," he repeated, shifting position on the bed and trying not to wince at the sharp pain.

Kate nodded slightly, stared at him, struggled to find something to ask, something to say. Their normal conversation took place on such a different level. Light banter, humour, gentle digs, nagging, deliberate attempts to bait the other, competitions for Gibbs' attention, mutual ganging up on McGee. Nothing in their relationship fitted what was happening here. Kate's normal response to the dejection that she saw would be to try to bait him, to force him to get angry, to fight back, but for some reason she knew that would not work. Pushing him now would just push him further over the edge, but she needed something, anything that even bordered on normal. "That'll be from the blood loss," She stated, smiling slightly as she had an idea. "They had trouble getting the bleeding stopped. I told you, you should eat more greens."

Tony frowned at her slightly "Eat more greens?" he asked. "I was . . .he used a knife how do you figure. . ."

"Yeah greens, don't you listen to anything I tell you Tony? Don't bother answering that." She sat down, gratified when his eyes followed her, still alert, still focused. "Green vegetables like Spinach, lettuce, broccoli and cabbage all contain vitamin K which aids blood clotting, which in turn helps if you have an injury like a gunshot or a knife wound. Everyone in our profession should eat plenty of greens."

"I hate spinach," Tony stated.

She tried hard to ignore the weakness in his reply, his voice only holding a tenth of the strength it normally would. The distraction was almost working; his eyes had brightened a little. Sparked with a little of the fire she could normally draw out of him. "That's what you said last time we had this conversation." Kate smiled, "But you'll never have big muscles like Popeye if you don't eat your spinach."

Kate was baiting him and he knew it, he did his best to keep the banter going, she looked scared. He gave a slight sneer. "That line didn't even work when my Nanny used it when I was four years old and it's certainly not going to work now."

"Fair enough, but you could eat more broccoli, cabbage, even Brussels sprouts."

Tony pulled a face. "I hate. . ." his voice wavered, he drew in a breath, ". . . those too."

Again Kate ignored the weakness, he needed this; she needed this. "Yeah well I've pretty much got it figured by now, if it doesn't have a high fat, high cholesterol count then you don't eat it."

Tony knew how to respond to that. "Hey that's unfair, I always have salad on my sandwiches," he protested.

"That's only because you're trying to impress the new girl on the checkout in the canteen." She forced her tone to remain even, that slight edge of sarcasm that it would have on any normal day; forced herself to ignore the fact that his eyes had dulled again, the spark was drifting away to be replaced by.. . .an emptiness. She had to ignore it. "We eat out and you always go for burger and fries."

Tony had to concede that one. Damn Kate, she was far too observant for him to win an argument like this one. He smiled at her. This was good, this was normal, things were back to normal, bantering with Kate. That was good; he was good. For a moment he almost had himself convinced. "Gibbs doesn't eat his greens," he tried.

"Gibbs doesn't have to, he just glares at his blood and it clots on command," Kate stated. "You on the other hand. . . ."

"Need to eat plenty, yeah I. . . ." His words were cut off by a cough, a small spluttering cough at first, the action still contorting his face in pain, it grew worse and Kate stood, stepped forward, but there was nothing that she could do. She was relieved when Dr. Preston appeared, helping Tony to sit more upright for a moment. Supporting him until the coughing eased and he dropped exhausted back onto the pillows.

It was only then that Kate realised that she had placed her hand over his; resting on it, for his comfort or hers she wasn't sure. The doctor met her gaze.

"You'd better give us a minute. I need to check the dressing," Dr Preston stated.

Kate nodded and stepped back slowly, her fingers lingering like her gaze, on the still frighteningly fragile form of her partner. She swallowed and stepped out into the hall, making it through the door to rest her back against it. She drew in a heavy breath as she once more failed to stop the two tears that tracked down her face. She hadn't been fooled. He'd been trying, trying really hard and she knew it was for her sake, but something in him was broken, and all she could do was pray that it wasn't irreparable. She sucked in a breath, the tears had stopped but she didn't bother to wipe them away. She pulled out her cell and dialled. Frowning at the voice on the other end of the line. "Abby, isn't this Gibbs new cell?"

"It is and it has temporarily been entrusted to me," Abby replied. "And confidentially, I think it will last longer in my possession." There was the briefest of pauses before the question. "You got some news on Tony?"

"Yes, good news, his conditions been upgraded to serious and he's awake," She injected a positivity into her tone that she didn't really feel. "I've just spoken to him. You can tell Gibbs. . ."

"Tell him for yourself," Abby said, still unsure as to how Gibbs always ended up in exactly the right place at the right time, maybe one day he would let her study him for ESP skills. She stared into his eyes, then again maybe not. He held out his hand expectantly and she handed the cell over. Silently bouncing up and down inside at the good news about Tony. She had learnt that it was not a good idea to allow the bouncing to physically manifest itself when she was in close proximity to Gibbs, so she had perfected the mental equivalent. In her head she was jumping around for joy but the only outward sign was a slight bobbing of her ponytails.

"Gibbs," he said abruptly into the phone, turning, because just ignoring Abby's bouncing wasn't an option.

Kate repeated what she had just told Abby.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked, his jaw tensing as he waited for the answer.

He had been there at the car; Kate knew he wasn't asking about Tony's physical health. "He's. . . she began but she had no idea how to finish. Well, she did but she didn't want to put it into words, not to Gibbs, she couldn't tell Gibbs what she'd seen in his eyes, she couldn't tell him that her friend, her partner may be broken, but he needed to know. "He's. . ." she repeated again.

"Yeah, that's about what I thought, I'm coming over." He stated, flipping the new cell phone closed.

Kate stood silently for a moment before she lowered the dead cell phone. She wasn't sure how long Dr. Preston had been at her side before she noticed that she was there.

"You can go back in now if you'd like," Dr. Preston said quietly.

'If you'd like?' No, she wouldn't like, wouldn't like it at all, but Tony needed someone, needed her.

"Thank you doctor," Kate said, staring once more at the door. She said a silent prayer for a little more strength and headed back into the room.


	10. One of the Bs is for

**Chapter 10 :One of the Bs is for. . .**

Tony's eyes were closed when she reentered the room but she wasn't sure if he was asleep. She watched for a moment, aware only of his pale complexion, his unnatural stillness, the shallowness of his breaths.

She caught herself almost zoning out as she focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Damn, she was an emotional mess and definitely not what he needed at the moment. Her efforts at normality had bordered on desperation, a compelling need within her to confirm that he was all right when clearly he wasn't, but she was at a loss for what else she could do.

She stood still, part of her hoping that he was sleeping. The rest would be good for him - right? Now that he had regained consciousness, now that the doctor had confirmed that there was no permanent physical harm, he should sleep; allow his body to recover. It was best that he slept- wasn't it?

She couldn't help but turn the statements, the affirmations, into questions, as she tried to convince herself. Except she had already seen his nightmares; knew that the physical harm was no longer what she should be worried about, and, that at least part of her desire for him to now continue sleeping was because of the helplessness she felt. She didn't have a clue what to do or say to help him. Wasn't sure that he would even want that from her.

Her eyes slowly refocused on him and she realised with a start that they were open, watching her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked quietly. Whatever she was thinking it would be a welcome distraction from his own, from the spiraling images that once more threatened from the edges of his vision.

Kate shook her head guiltily. "I'm not sure they're worth that much," she replied, taking a seat once more.

He gave a slight nod, forgetting for a moment the neck injury and was rewarded with another sharp stab of pain. He caught the anxious look Kate gave him and tried his best to give her a reassuring smile as he drew in an audible breath. "I've got to remember not to do that," he stated, shifting slightly on the pillows.

If Kate was hoping that it would provide a distraction from her own preoccupied thoughts then she was disappointed.

"So what had you so spaced?" he asked. As if he had the right to ask, as if he wasn't guilty of worse.

"I was just thinking. . ." the words were used as a delaying tactic so she could think of something else to say. Her mind scrambled, for something, anything; her voice took on that sarcastic tone that she used so often in their exchanges. "That you're not nearly as annoying when you're asleep as you are when you're awake."

Damn that was lame and potentially hurtful and so dreadfully, wonderfully normal. Kate cringed as the last word left her lips. She guessed she was still desperate for that normality between them. She held her breath and waited for the year long seconds to pass to see how he would reply.

Tony made to nod but thought better of it. "Yeah," he agreed. "Guess I am."

'Annoying,' the adjective echoed in his mind. Recent images flitted across his vision once more. Jeffrey griping about running, trying to position his arm on the motorbike, the clinging during the ride, the incessant complaining, the need to be liked that flowed off him in waves. Yeah, he was annoying, like a kid brother was annoying. Was that why he'd shot him, because he was too annoying? No, he'd liked him, he had to shoot him he. . . And the images spiraled round again.

Kate, heard the defeat in his tone as he agreed with her, saw the moment at which she lost him, his eyes clouding with confusion and pain. She wasn't one for profanity- good catholic girls didn't think that way, didn't speak that way, but she only had one thought at that moment. And it was a word she wouldn't repeat.

She struggled again for something to say, something to pull his focus back. "Gibbs is on his way," she stated.

Tony heard the sound but he struggled to process it into words. With effort he dragged his focus back to settle on Kate's face. "Sorry?"

"I said, Gibbs is on his way." Kate repeated, somewhat relieved that she had him back, at least for the moment.

Tony stared at her as his mind slowly processed the information. Gibbs was coming to the hospital to see him. Why? Somehow he wasn't remotely surprised to see Kate here. Visiting him was a Kate thing to do, even staying with him, waiting for him to wake up; that was Kate, but it wasn't Gibbs. Gibbs wasn't exactly the sentimental type; he would need a reason.

If Tony had been thinking logically it might have occurred to him, he might even have hoped, that Gibbs would be worried about him. Would want to see for himself that he was all right, but Tony wasn't thinking logically. Besides, he had had the expectation that people would generally worry about his state of health driven out of him long ago. A father who cared only about his financial deals during the day, and where his next whisky was coming from in the evening, and a mother who filled her life with charity work and social engagements, occasionally checking with the latest nanny that you were still alive, tended to make your expectations about where you stood fairly low. Still, over the years Gibbs had him about convinced in his own way that he did matter to him, if only by how pissed off he got whenever he did something stupid or dangerous. In Tony's scrambled mind, however, it was the stronger influences from childhood that guided his thought patterns.

What was wrong? Why would Gibbs come here? Because he was angry, of course. His anxiety levels spiked as he tried to fit a reason to his current perceptions. He winced. "Oh God, he's mad with me isn't he, I'm in trouble. He thinks I should have come in after I lost the second tracking device doesn't he?"

He didn't give Kate a chance to answer as his mind continued to connect his memories. He'd had a brief internal debate at the time. To give up or continue, it was a judgement call. He'd known that to carry on without backup was dangerous. "But I thought I was so close." He looked pleadingly into Kate's eyes, needing her understanding, her approval. "He was about to give me Lane's number when we crashed, I couldn't lose it all, come back with nothing. I'd gained his trust and I knew that I just needed a little longer. I was so close to persuading him, or at least I thought I was," his tone turned from anxiety to bitterness in a heartbeat, his eyes dropping from hers to the covers. "Except he crashed the truck to avoid telling me. . ." He let the sentence trail before looking back up into Kate's eyes, seeking reassurance once more. "I didn't know, Kate I swear, I didn't think there was any danger, he looked so. . .harmless."

Kate took a moment to take a deep breath, her own anxiety had spiked with Tony's he was still too weak to be reacting like this; she was supposed to be the calming influence.

On a normal day Kate would have taken great delight in winding Tony up about exactly how screwed he was, feeding his anxieties, agreeing with his assessment of Gibbs' mood. On a normal day, when Tony didn't looks so weak, so vulnerable, so scared. . .Damn, there were those words that her mother wouldn't approve of forming in her mind. . . .OK, reassurance she could do that. She took a breath. "Nobody thought he was a danger Tony, you wouldn't have been out there with him if we'd known." Her own voice betrayed a trace of the guilt she felt, she swallowed. "And Gibbs isn't angry with you. You took down White and recovered all of the stolen property. Gibbs isn't mad with you at all."

Tony stared at her for a moment. "Really? He's not pissed?"

"No," Kate stated, hoping that she wasn't lying as she answered on Gibbs behalf. "He's really not mad with you."

Tony's eyes continued to search her expression, finally accepting the sincerity of the statement, he allowed himself to relax a little, and a blanket of tiredness seemed to settle over him. It was like someone had placed a tap in his side and was draining away his energy, his eyelids suddenly felt so heavy.

Kate watched his eyes slide closed, relieved as his breathing settled once more into a still too shallow but regular rhythm. It was best that he slept- wasn't it?

NCISNCIS

Tony's eyes slowly refocused as he dragged them open, confusion reigning for a moment as he tried to orient himself, the memories slowly sliding into place, images drifting back like the scenes from a bad nightmare, except this wasn't a nightmare this had happened and he was here and he'd killed Jeffrey and. . .

"Dinozzo?"

Tony shifted slightly so that he could look at the chair where Kate had been sitting; Gibbs steel blue gaze met his.

"Hey boss." Tony replied, pitching for casual, failing.

Gibbs swore, not aloud, not so anyone would hear it, not so that Tony would even notice it, but in his head the swear word was loud and bitter and venomous and carried all of the emotion that he needed to vent at that moment. One look was all it took, one look into Tony's eyes and he saw again what he'd seen in the car. The haunted emptiness was still there. He looked at the floor, he had to look away, had to repeat the swear word over and over as he tried to settle his thoughts. He shifted forward in his seat and placed his coffee on the floor to cover his reaction. Only when he was sure that he could control his expression did he look up again. Time to find out if it was as bad as it looked; time to find out if there was any hope.

"I asked you if you were hurt." Gibbs stated.

Tony's brow furrowed in confusion, he didn't remember Gibbs saying anything before his name. Had he. . ?

"In the car," Gibbs clarified. "I asked you if you were hurt and you said no." He paused, locking gazes once more. "You have a two inch gash in your neck and you almost bled out." He paused again. "You almost died."

Wish I had. The thought flashed through Tony's mind and for a moment he tried to deny it but there was something strong and buried deep that believed it, that had pushed it out in response, because dying couldn't be worse than this. It had to hurt less; it had to feel better than this emptiness where the emotion should be, from this place where the only things that registered were panic and anxiety and pain.

Gibbs saw the thought, it registered in the younger agents' eyes as clearly as if he'd spoken it out loud. This time his mind screamed the expletive.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered, not sure what he was apologizing for; for not telling Gibbs he was hurt? For not dying? For wanting to die?

Gibbs clenched his jaw, the muscle on the side twitching slightly as he controlled the urge to utter the words he was thinking, not that he had any hang-ups from a Catholic education like Kate had, but because verbalizing them would only make the situation worse. The Gibbs Tony knew, the Gibbs Tony relied on was strong and calm and always knew what to do, and that was the Gibbs that Tony needed in the room with him now, not the one that felt a deep pain tearing at his gut, because he was afraid, afraid that Tony was too far gone to bring back.

He ignored the apology. "We recovered everything," he stated, "McGee's still helping to catalogue it all but it looks like the container was shipped intact." He paused for a moment but there was no response.

Tony's gaze had dropped to the blankets in front of him. He knew that he should be feeling something, knew that he should be pleased that he'd completed his assignment, done his job, closed the case, but he didn't feel anything, nothing. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Director Morrow sends his congratulations on a job well done," Gibbs tried. Still there was nothing.

Praise from the director, that was rare; rarer than praise from Gibbs, which meant that it was pretty much a never thing and still he felt nothing, no pride, no elation, no satisfaction, nothing. He stared at his hands as he'd done in the car, fascinated by the bright droplets of blood on them.

Gibbs leaned forward. "It was a good shoot Tony. You did what you had to do."

Tony looked up at that, meeting Gibbs' gaze, realising that he wasn't still in the car, that he was in the hospital. He glanced back down at his hands; they were clean. Confused, he looked back up, searching Gibbs' expression, noting the concern. Dammit! What the hell was wrong with him? He took a breath allowing his mind to process Gibbs' last statement once more. Logically he knew that Gibbs was right. He hadn't had a choice, it was kill or be killed. He'd left it until the last possible minute, had almost left it too late, he didn't have a choice, he'd had to kill before. So why. . . ? "I really liked him," he finally stated quietly.

Gibbs almost lost his tenuous control at the repeat of the phrase. It was like Tony was still stuck in that damned car. "White was a cold-blooded killer," he stated, his voice remarkably calm. "He killed three other people in Seattle before he came out here. Abby pulled his record, he slit their throats."

Tony swallowed, almost raising a hand to touch the bandage on his neck; instead he just clenched his fist. "Lane?"

"Throat slit clean through to the spine, very messy. We found his body outside the cabin."

Tony closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. White had killed Lane, cleaned himself up and then calmly sat and watched him sleep. "I didn't know." He opened his eyes and looked back at Gibbs. He'd been uneasy at the time, frightened even, but he'd dismissed it as an over active imagination. He should have known, should have followed what his gut was telling him. "He told me Lane had taken the bike and was trying to beat us to the buyer." His eyes dropped. There was the briefest of pauses. "I believed him." The next pause was longer. "Half of what he told me was lies and I believed him."

Gibbs took a moment to study him, leaning forward in the chair. "No reason you shouldn't." His tone was uncharacteristically soft. "He had everyone fooled," me included, "even Seattle P.D. put the previous murders down to Lane," and I chained you to the guy and sent you out alone with him. Gibbs only allowed the self-recrimination as a thought. Tony didn't need anyone else's emotional burdens.

Tony tried hard to take in what Gibbs was saying, knew that he was trying to put what he had done into context. Jeffrey White was a killer, had nearly killed him, he shouldn't be feeling remorse about the shooting, not like this. On a rational logical level he knew that he had no choice and yet. . .It was the incongruity of the situation, of how Jeffrey had appeared and the reality of who he was. Somehow, no matter how much he tried, it just wasn't processing. There were aspects of Jeffrey's personality that just hit too close to home, that Tony could identify with. Jeffrey had wanted to be his friend, had asked him to watch his back, had given him the gun. He felt the cold metal in his hands, looked down but it wasn't there, his hands were empty. . . Damn!

Gibbs watched him a little longer, watched the internal struggle and cursed once again.

Gibbs deserved his reputation as a bastard, most of the time he didn't consider the feelings of others, not where the job was concerned. Hell, not where most things were concerned, hence the three wives and friends amongst only those few who bothered to look below the surface, who stopped to consider the whys when he seemed to ride roughshod over their emotional responses.

There were days when being a bastard was fun, brought amusing responses, or just allowed him to enjoy the reactions to his outrageous behaviour. There were other days when it was just practical and expedient to do so. There were even days when he genuinely didn't notice he was doing it, unless someone pointed it out, and then there were days like today. Days where he knew exactly what he was doing, and it hurt like hell.

"Dinozzo, it was a good shoot. You know that right?"

Tony looked up at the suddenly sharp tone. "I. . ."

Gibbs didn't give him a chance to answer. "As soon as you're cleared to get out of here I need you to come in and give a statement, and look at the bodies of both Jeffrey White and Lane Donaldson."

Tony's already pale complexion lightened a shade, Gibbs wanted him to look at the bodies he didn't think he could, didn't want to see.. . .

"You're then on permanent medical leave until you're cleared for duty by psych. I'll get Kate to make an appointment for you."

Tony allowed the confusion to show. "But I. . ."

Gibbs eyes narrowed as he waited for Tony's gaze to finally meet his, his expression as cold as steel. "Look Dinozzo, I want you back on the team but if you can't get past this then I'll need you to clear your desk and make way for someone who can." He pushed his chair back and stood. Forcing himself to ignore the pain and confusion on the younger agent's face. He paused by the door, almost giving in to the temptation to turn and offer some sort of comfort but that wasn't his role here. He walked out into the corridor without looking back.

There were days when being a bastard hurt like hell.

Kate was waiting for him, her eyes glistening with tears and flashing with anger. She'd clearly been listening by the door. She stood in front of him trying to bring her anger under enough control so that she could speak.

Gibbs tried to ignore her, tried to step around her. But she moved to block his path.

"What the Hell were you doing in there?" she asked, raising herself up as high as she could and moving her face into Gibbs personal space. "How could you say that to him? You can see the state he's in. Whatever happened to him in that car was deeply traumatic and he needs our help and sympathy, not threats to take his job away from him, and orders to look at the bodies. He needs. . ." Kate's tirade finally stopped as she looked up into Gibbs eyes and saw something there, was that pain?

"Are you finished?" he asked evenly.

Kate took a small step back, suddenly confused. "I guess. . ."

"Good," Gibbs stated and made to move around her once more.

She let him almost pass. "Gibbs?"

He stopped mid-stride and seemed to hesitate, for a moment she thought he was just going to walk off but instead he turned. "What Kate? What does he need?"

She looked into his eyes processing the question. "I don't know," she admitted quietly.

Gibbs let out a long slow breath, allowing his muscles to relax as some of the tension of the last few minutes drained away. He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Do you want Dinozzo back?"

That was a stupid question, of course she wanted him back why wouldn't she. . ."Yes," she answered simply.

"Then we need him to fight Kate." He looked across to the door to Tony's room. "We need him to fight."


	11. Visiting the Dead

**  
Chapter 11: Visiting the Dead**

Gibbs walked slowly into autopsy; the lighting was dim, not quite completely off but almost. He didn't try to change it; it suited his mood. He limped slightly as he made his way over to the bank of drawers that covered one side of the room, locating and pulling open the one he wanted in one swift easy movement. He took a small step backwards and to the side, adjusting his position before looking down at the body.

Jeffrey White looked somehow younger without his glasses, his features smoothed in death, so that he finally lost that air of anxiety that he couldn't quite shake in life. Was it that that had made him seem like a geek? Was it his physical appearance, his heavily rimmed glasses and poorly chosen clothes, or was it something in the way that he projected himself that screamed 'failure' to the world? Whatever it was, it was not evident now. White simply looked peaceful and Gibbs hated him for that.

He didn't deserve peace, not after butchering four people, not after almost killing Tony. He didn't deserve such a quick end. Ducky had already given him a summary of the autopsy report. Tony's first bullet had ruptured White's Aorta, he had been dead from the moment it hit, the other two bullets redundant, merely splattering the blood of a man who was already dead around the interior of the car, but Tony hadn't known that, had needed to fire more than once as he had been trained, to be sure, to save his own life.

He shook his head and let out a breath. White shouldn't have died like that, shouldn't have died by Tony's hand, because Gibbs knew that was what was threatening to destroy the younger agent. All he didn't know was why? It kept coming back to that, and if he knew the answer then he might be able to help.

He cursed for the millionth time that night, and wished that he'd gotten there soon enough to finish the man himself. If he could have brought him back to life there and then, he would have killed him again, for what he'd tried to do to Tony, for what he had done to Tony. He clenched his fists by his side as he resisted the urge to smash them down on Jeffrey's head.

"Defiling a body is a serious offence Jethro." Ducky's voice was soft, almost melodic in tone.

Gibbs didn't turn; he just continued to stare, controlling his breathing, not even thinking of questioning how Ducky knew what he was thinking or the fact that he was there. He hadn't noticed him enter, or maybe he'd been there all along.

"Although one of the tribes of the Javiro Indians of South America used to cut off the heads of their enemies after death and shrink them in a rather fascinating process that involved. . .

"Ducky!"

Ducky had made it round to the opposite side of the drawer to face Gibbs. He raised his eyes from the body. "Of course that was mainly because they believed they needed protection from the soul of their victim, and I'm afraid that the soul of our friend here has long since departed."

"He's nobody's friend," Gibbs ground out, objecting to Ducky's phrasing even though he knew that it was merely a figure of speech on the older man's part.

There was silence for a moment. Ducky looked down at White's body once more. "Maybe Tony's," he said quietly, his head lifting to meet Gibbs' surprised gaze.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the suggestion. "He only knew him a day," he protested.

Ducky held eye contact. "Of course, silly me, I was forgetting how long it normally takes young Anthony to form attachments."

Gibbs stared for a moment. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you Duck."

"No, but it does sometimes serve a purpose."

Gibbs gave a slight nod and looked down at White once more. Tony's words returning, 'I really liked him.' The phrase echoed in his head. "So do you think that's what's wrong with Dinozzo?" He looked up again, slightly sceptically, knowing himself that it had to be more than that. "He thinks he killed a friend?"

"I think it's a combination of things," Ducky stated, letting out a sigh. " Psychiatry wasn't one of the fields I studied. Outside my area of expertise I'm afraid."

"But if you had to guess?"

Ducky took off his glasses, cleaning them absently before putting them back on. "Then I'd have to say that part of the cause of Anthony's reaction was the proximity. It's a lot harder to kill someone when they're right next to you." His tone became a little softer. "You know that," he paused for the briefest of moments, his voice strengthening again. "And the Marine core trained you for it. Police training I fear is a little less rigorous when it comes to such matters."

Gibbs gave another slight nod of acknowledgement, swallowing as he remembered the few occasions he'd had to take a life up close and personal. You would have to be psychotic not to react to that, but even that was not enough. "And?" he asked.

"Part of it is undoubtedly because he had formed some sort of emotional bond with Mr. White"

Gibbs felt slightly cheated by the answer, Ducky had already said as much with his earlier comments, but there was more. "And?"

Ducky focussed for the first time on the cut above Gibbs eye. "You know you really should let me take a look at that."

"Ducky?" Gibbs' tone was barely removed from a growl, frustrated by his friend's avoidance.

Ducky ignored him. "And the ankle too, that's quite a limp you've got. I'll just get my bag. Sit yourself down.

Gibbs watched silently as Ducky moved away. There were very few people he would let get away with treating him like this, but he knew that if he wanted any chance of his question being answered he would have to comply. Reluctantly he moved over to take a seat.

"So what happened?" Ducky asked as he removed a suturing kit.

"Nothing." Gibbs tried.

"'Nothing's do not generally require stitches," Ducky stated cleaning the area gently, "and this is going to require at least three." He paused and looked down. "So what happened?"

"I went to the gym for a workout, but the punch bag wasn't enough." He allowed a small smile. "So I ended up sparring with two Marines who'd also had a bad day." He met Ducky's gaze. "Al threw us all out of the ring for being too violent."

"Good job too from the look of this eye." Ducky stated, not even offering the anaesthetic that he knew Gibbs would refuse, before applying the first stitch.

"Yeah well you should see the other guys." Gibbs managed to get the phrase out before clenching his jaw against the sharp prick of the entering needle.

"Cliché's Jethro? Things must be worse than I thought."

"Yeah, well they're petty bad."

The air thickened at the comment. Ducky worked silently as Gibbs clenched his fists tightly; the only outward sign that he felt anything at all as the thread pulled his skin back together.

"Kate's already been for her own little chat with our dead friend over there," Ducky nodded in his direction, trying to ignore Gibbs' reaction again to his use of the word 'friend,' but no matter what a person had done in life, he couldn't bring himself to treat a body with anything less than respect, it wasn't in him. "She told me what happened at the hospital."

Gibbs sighed. "I was pretty hard on him. What if I'm wrong?"

Ducky had finished the last stitch and turned to his bag once more, he stopped mid action. It was so rare to hear Gibbs second guess himself that it deserved his full attention. He studied Gibbs' expression, considering his response carefully. "You did what you thought was most likely to pull him through. How can that be wrong?"

Gibbs stared for a moment. "It's wrong if it doesn't work," he stated with a quiet intensity.

Ducky exhaled deeply at the comment, at the possibilities it allowed. "All we can do is our best Jethro, the rest is up to time and God." He turned to his bag once more, sweeping aside the tension that pervaded the atmosphere around them. "Now take your shoe off, I want to get a look at that ankle."

NCISNCIS

Kate pulled the DVD from the Blockbuster box and dropped it onto the open tray of the player. She'd managed to get a copy in the first store she'd gone to, which since the movie was produced in 1958 was testament to the fact that it was either a classic film, or perhaps a reflection of the enduring popularity of the two leads. She hoped it was the former. She picked up one of the cartons of takeaway from the table, and settled herself back as the FBI warning faded and the menu screen appeared, hoping that the promise she had made to Tony wouldn't be too arduous. She clicked on 'play movie' and dropped the remote.

It had taken her a while to get any sort of response at all after Gibbs had left. Tony seemed to have shrunk back in on himself, as though he wasn't connecting with the outside world at all. By the time he did speak to her, she would probably have been prepared to promise him anything not to lose him again.

"Will you do me a favour Kate?" he'd asked, his voice seemed thin, lacking in any depth.

Normally she would have needed more information before agreeing to such an open question but there was no way she was going to refuse the lost little boy who stared out through Tony's eyes. "If I can."

"Rent a movie for me." He gave a sad smile. "I'd tell you about it but I don't think I could do it justice. So I want you to watch it."

"OK, which one?"

"It's called The Defiant Ones. It's an MGM classic, 1958 directed by Stanley Kubrick and. . ." He trailed the sentence off. "But you don't need to know that, just watch it for me and then maybe you'll. . ." again the sentence trailed. He looked her directly in the eye; the lost boy look was gone to be replaced by a haunted one that spoke of dark experience beyond his years. The contrast was so striking it made her give a slight gasp. "You said you wanted to understand."

And she had, in an extended monologue earlier, when she hadn't really thought he'd been listening to her. She'd asked him to try to tell her what was wrong, why this was so hard for him. She'd asked him to help her understand.

"Watch the movie, ask yourself if Sydney Poitier could've shot Tony Curtis, despite what he was, how he behaved."

She studied him for a moment. "Tony if you're trying to tell me you identify with Sydney Poitier then I have something to tell you. You're not black." She tried to introduce a little levity, hoping to see something other than defeat in her partner.

It didn't work, Tony's eyes clouded a little more. "That's what Jeffrey said," he stated, letting his head roll back so that he was staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched. Kate could swear that she could hear the second hand on the clock moving. He turned to look back at her. "Just rent the movie," he said quietly.

She nodded, suddenly struck by how tired he looked. "I'll let you get some rest," she said, "I'll call back tomorrow."

He gave her a barely perceptible nod, anything more would hurt, anything more would require some energy. He let his head move back to stare at the ceiling. Not sure what he was more afraid of. The spiralling images that would fill his head while awake or the nightmares that would haunt him in sleep, somehow tomorrow seemed an impossibly long time away.

That was how she'd ended up sitting here watching a film, not something she did very often. She could never understand Tony's fascination with the media. Watching TV to her was something you did when you were too sick to do anything else, and then she'd probably end up reading instead, and she couldn't remember the last movie she'd been to see at a theatre.

The open cartons of takeaway sat forgotten and cold on the table in front of her, long discarded as more and more of her attention had been captured by the intense relationship that was being played out on the screen. She watched as the end credits began to roll, trying to ignore the tear that rolled down her cheek knowing that it wasn't just a reaction to what she'd seen on the screen. "Oh Tony," she whispered softly.


	12. Boys Don't Cry

**Chapter 12: Boys Don't Cry**

Tony left the hospital alone. He made sure that no one knew he was going to be discharged and signed himself out an hour earlier just in case. He didn't want anybody there, didn't want anyone to witness just how hard a time he was having, and he couldn't keep up the mask, not in front of his friends, not in front of the people who knew him.

He had tried. He'd tried so godammned hard when Kate and Abby and Ducky and McGee had visited. They all came, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs. They came, and he tried to convince them that he was the same old Tony, tried to glue the mask that normally hid his real emotions so well, back in place. Except the mask kept slipping, could no longer cover the cracks, and when his friends saw what was underneath he saw the one emotion in their eyes that he could not live with. He saw their pity.

It made him want to hide in a dark corner, not that he really needed a physical place; the whole of the inside of his head was dark. . .scary. . .and he was alone in that darkness, even when the room was full of people and light, he was alone there, in the dark.

He didn't know how bad it was though, not really. Not until he walked out through the doors of the hospital into the early afternoon sunshine, not until he approached the taxi, the car.

He was standing back inside the hospital, sweating, shivering, fighting an overwhelming desire to cry, and that was almost more frightening than the patchy memory of how he'd found himself back in the building.

Tony hadn't cried since he was six.

'Boys don't cry' It had perhaps been the only thing he'd learnt from his father, well, that and maybe that he didn't want a career in high-pressure finance. Anything that could drive you to drink yourself into oblivion every night couldn't be worth it, no matter what the financial reward, but the 'boys don't cry' was a lesson he'd learnt well. If he closed his eyes he could still remember the smell, the stench of whiskyd breath, the tight grip on his arms, the looming face so close as to make the features almost grotesque, bulging bloodshot eyes, slack skin, saliva dribbling from a half closed mouth as the words slurred out. "Stop it, stop it," the words had been repeated, accompanied by a shake. "Boys don't cry. Do you hear me? Boys don't cry." Saliva had sprayed his face, coating his skin with a fine film causing the stench to increase and linger. "Answer me boy!" Another shake, had there been a question? "What don't boys do?" Ah, there it was.

"Cry sir," he'd answered, trying to keep the terror from his voice, not that his father had ever hurt him, but the lack of control was visible even to a child's eyes. "Boys don't cry."

His father had nodded, satisfied "Good boy."

He was never sure in the years that followed if he held to the adage because of the fear, or because those two words were the closest his father ever came to praising him for something. There were times when he would have welcomed any sort of attention, even violence. At least it would have been some acknowledgement of his existence, of the fact that he meant something to the man.

Whatever, he hadn't cried since that day, but suppressing the urge now, seemed somehow harder than usual, memories of the indifference and pain of his childhood were bubbling too close to the surface, closer than they'd been in years, and he didn't need them now, couldn't deal with them now. He had other traumas to deal with and that was all so long ago and. . .

He forced himself to take deep breaths; using the relaxation techniques he'd been taught. Techniques reiterated every time he saw a psychiatrist or psychologist, every time he'd been involved in a traumatic 'incident'. Normally he didn't need it; normally he coped fine, normally. . . The word seemed to catch in his mind, nothing felt normal. He concentrated his attention back on his breathing, as more recent memories returned vaguely. The cab driver calling after him as he turned, the smell of blood and cordite, the steps back into the building, the bright droplets of blood on the gun butt, the fear.

"Are you all right, Sir?" The young nurse had a gentle hand resting on his arm.

Tony turned with a slight start, settling as he saw the concerned eyes. "Yes. . .I. . .er?" He looked back through the doors in time to see the cab pull away. "I was. . ." He struggled to pull himself back to the present, struggled to produce a coherent sentence. "I've just been discharged and. . ." Damn, how was he going to get home now?

"Tony?"

Tony closed his eyes briefly, not sure whether to be happy or upset, as he plastered on a smile and turned to see Kate weaving her way past the other visitors and patients towards him. He looked sideways back at the nurse. "Thanks, that's my friend, I'll be OK now."

She studied him for a moment, her expression sceptical. The pale complexion and thin sheen of sweat that covered his features were cause for concern, but the smile seemed genuine, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "OK, I'll be at the desk if you need me."

Tony remembered not to nod. "Thanks." He brightened the smile before turning his focus to Kate.

She stopped a few feet away, studying him carefully before she said anything. "Gibbs was right."

"He usually is," Tony allowed, "about what?"

"He said you'd try to leave without letting us know, persuaded Dr. Preston to give us a call when she was discharging you."

"Hey, that's a breach of Doctor- patient confidentiality," Tony protested, trying hard to sound annoyed.

Kate shrugged, "Technically not, she didn't actually use the words; she just coincidentally gave Gibbs a call this morning. In fact, as far as I can tell, she actually asked Gibbs out on a date?"

"A date?"

"She is a redhead," Kate stated, with a slight grin. "Anyway, we were just finishing up a crime scene," She pointed to the blue NCIS jacket and cap she was still wearing. "Gibbs sent me in the truck to come get you."

Tony stared for a moment; Kate was here in the truck, not a car. He could have kissed her.

Kate was a little disconcerted, unable to read his reaction. "I know the truck's not the most comfortable form of. . ."

"No," Tony interrupted, "no, the truck's just fine. Truth is I didn't want to bother you, I was just going to get a cab home." Well it was part of the truth anyway.

Kate looked at him again. She wanted to yell at him, to tell him how stupid he was, that, of course they didn't mind helping him out, making sure he got home OK, especially given the state he was in, given how worried they all were about him. She wanted to yell at him, to berate him for his stupidity. She wanted to. . .but he didn't want to hear that, didn't need to hear that, an external acknowledgement of just how bad he was, confirmation that all of his friends knew it. So she cocked her head to one side and looked slightly exasperated. "Well, I'm here now," she stated, deliberately keeping her tone light. "So I might as well take you."

"Thanks," Tony said as she turned and moved, making sure he fell into step beside her.

They walked in silence. Kate didn't speak again until she was climbing into the truck. "Gibbs suggested that I didn't take you straight home."

"Oh," Tony paused partway through climbing up onto the bench seat. "Where'd he suggest you take me first? 'Cos if it's back to your place then I'm flattered really I am but with the injury. ."

"Tony!"

Tony met her gaze he still hadn't climbed up on to the seat, he gave her a grin, the grin he always gave when he knew that he had successfully pushed her buttons. Maybe he could do normal after all.

She tried to smile back, but the knowledge that he wasn't going to like her next suggestion marred her reaction to the tease. "No, Gibbs did not suggest I take you back to my place, which, by the way you could not pay me enough for. . ."

"Then where?" Tony asked his own smile fading a little. He still hadn't made any further moves into the truck.

Kate busied herself with her seatbelt as she spoke. "He wants me to bring you in so that you can give your statement." She clicked the belt into place, and finally looked up again. "He wants to close out the files." She didn't add the 'we all do,' as she watched for his reaction.

Tony swallowed. Giving a statement would mean remembering, he didn't really want to remember. He choked off the bitter laugh before it formed in his throat. Who was he kidding, remembering was all he was doing, every minute, every action, would trigger a memory, a bright technicoloured, surround sound, touch and smell-o-vision memory that he couldn't. . .

"Tony?" Kate couldn't keep the edge of panic out of her voice. Dammit it had been three days now and each time she lost him to those demons that were haunting him it hurt a little bit more, cut a little bit deeper. Each time she was afraid that he just wouldn't come back.

So much for normal, he looked up and met Kate's concerned gaze. "Sure," he said, resuming his climb into the truck.

"Sure what?" she asked

"I'll come in, give my statement," he stated quietly, locking his own seatbelt into place and looking forward.

Despite the fact that she agreed with Gibbs, that she knew this was the right thing to do. That getting this interview over with would help rather than hinder his recovery, she still needed to give him an out. She didn't want to be the one to force him into something he wasn't ready for. "You don't have to, I could tell Gibbs I forgot to ask you, or that you didn't look well enough. . ."

He smiled again. "It's OK Kate, I'll do it. It's something I'm going to have to face so I might as well get it over with." He tried to sound confident, tried to keep his face in a smile as his insides lurched, reorganising in his abdomen in tight knots. He turned to meet her gaze.

"You're sure?" she asked, her eyes searching his expression.

"I'll be fine," he stated and turned his gaze away, because it was so much harder lying to her when she was looking him in the eye.

NCISNCIS

"What do you mean he's gone?" Gibbs voice was loud enough to carry the length of the interrogation room corridor, and nearly deafened McGee who was standing only two feet away.

"Well. . .I. . he . .er. . ." He took a deep breath. "He asked me to get him some water. I didn't think there would be a problem with leaving him alone. I mean its not as if he's a suspect or. . ."

"No, no McGee he's not a suspect, he's a colleague and a friend." Gibbs anger was borne of frustration and fear, but it didn't make the emotion any less. "And he's just spent the last three hours reliving an undercover assignment that almost cost him his life. You saw what that took out of him. You saw the state he was in. I told you to stay with him. Was that such a difficult instruction to understand?"

McGee looked down at his feet. Gibbs had half whispered the words to him by the doorway. He'd taken the paperwork away, gone to check that the statement was processed. That all the i's were dotted and the t's crossed, so that the shoot could be labelled clean and the case files put to bed, but as he'd reached the door he'd taken a concerned look back at the harrowed figure at the table. "Stay with him." The words had been whispered almost reverently before he left. That was all Gibbs had asked him to do and he'd messed it up, but what else could he have done.

Tony had turned to him. "Hey, McGee," his voice had cracked a little. "Do you think you could get me some water," his hand waved vaguely at the empty glass. "I've.. . er. . ." he pulled a prescription bottle from his pocket, looking slightly embarrassed. "I've got some pills I need to take." He'd picked up the glass. "Please?"

It was clear what the pills were for; the pain was forcing visible creases around Tony's eyes. Gibbs had asked him to stay but he'd only be gone a minute, maybe two.

McGee looked back up meeting Gibbs angry glare. "I know I should have stayed with him but he said he needed the water to take his pills. He was in pain, I didn't think. . ."

"No, McGee, you didn't think. Agent Roberts was listening in the next room you could have asked him, or called Kate or. . ." Gibbs cut himself off mid sentence. This wasn't helping them find Tony. "Let's split up I'll take Autopsy, you take the parking lot, get hold of Kate and Ducky and Abby, let them know what's happening."

McGee nodded, pulling out his cell phone as he began to move.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


	13. Choices

**Chapter 13: Choices.**

Tony leant against the doorframe and watched Abby work. There was something that was life affirming in her every movement, the room around her buzzing with positive energy. It was what he needed right now. The frown left his features for the first time in hours.

She was walking across the room, her head dancing to some music that, for a change, wasn't blaring out for others to hear, not that it mattered, she didn't need to hear it; it was there in her head. She was partway across when she spotted him. Her face lighting up with a radiant smile as she positively bounded across the remaining distance towards him, the screech that she uttered made Tony give a slight wince and then she shouted his name with glee. "Tony Tony! Nobody told me you were out of hospital; they didn't tell me you were here." She made to give him a hug. Stopping just a few inches away with her arms in mid-embrace. She pulled back, looking at him with sudden concern "Is it all right? Can I?" She gestured with her hands.

"It's OK Abby I won't break." Tony smiled at her, and it was a genuine smile as she folded her arms around him and squeezed. The embrace was warm and comforting and positive, and everything that Tony needed. "If I'd known I was going to get this sort of welcome I would have come here first." He said, as they rocked slightly together.

Then Abby pulled back, realising that her enthusiasm was, as usual, a little over the top for what people would consider to be normal, not that it ever fazed her. "It's just good to see you up and around." She looked into his eyes and then allowed her gaze to drop, pulling back and bouncing a little as she studied him. Her gaze lingering as she seemed to spot for the first time the bandage on his neck. "Hey, that is perfectly positioned," she stated.

Tony looked a little confused.

"I know some parties you could go to where a neck bandage like that is considered to be a serious turn on." She mocked vampire fangs with her fingers.

Tony smiled again. "No thanks, no offence but long black hair and deathly pale skin, just doesn't do it for me Abs, and I doubt you get any well tanned blondes at those sorts of parties."

Abby looked thoughtful, a glint forming in her eye. "Oh I don't know, if you go to the ones that have fallen foul of the 'Buffy Influence' you might." She stepped back. "I could get you some invites to the right ones if you'd like."

Tony allowed a chuckle as he waved his finger, as a less painful alternative to shaking his head. "I'll still pass," he stated lightly.

Abby's phone began to ring and she automatically turned to answer it. He moved to intercept, taking hold of her wrists to stop her. The pressure was gentle and she didn't resist. She just gave him a curious look.

"Whoever that is. You haven't seen me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Even Gibbs?"

"Especially Gibbs." Tony answered emphatically, holding eye contact for a second before releasing her to take the call.

She picked up the receiver. "Oh Hi McGee,"

She looked up at him and he gave her his best pleading look not to give him away. She hadn't actually said she wouldn't.

"Tony? No, no I haven't seen him."

He breathed a huge sigh, relaxing a little at her words.

"So, what's up?" She listened for a moment. "Yeah, if he shows up here I'll call you." She replaced the receiver and watched Tony for a moment. "Want to tell me what all that was about?" She gestured down at the phone.

Tony tried to ignore the question. "Thanks for not giving me away."

Abby stared at him again, noticing for the first time how pale and tired he looked. The heavy rings under his eyes, and the slight wrinkles that gave away the fact that he was in pain. "McGee sounded worried."

Tony looked down at the ground, when he looked up again his expression gave away the guilt that he felt. These were his friends; they were trying to help him. They deserved better from him. He wished fervently that he could be stronger, but knew that he didn't have it in him. Not right now, maybe never, not that he wouldn't try to come back; he would, just not now, not today. . .and then the small voice in his mind echoed, maybe never. "I know," he said softly, "I kinda ran out on him."

"Is there a reason?" Abby's curiosity seemed somehow gentle, not demanding.

Tony sighed, looking down at the floor again. He turned to rest his weight on the edge of the table. There was silence. Abby didn't push, didn't make him feel under pressure. She just watched and waited, unnaturally still for her, and yet it seemed entirely natural.

"Gibbs thinks I should go and see. . .Jeffrey." Tony stated hesitantly, his eyes still aimed at the floor although he didn't see it. "I think he thinks it will help."

"And you don't think it will?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure that it will." Tony turned to look at her, meeting and holding her gaze. "I just can't do it."

"Can't?" Abby asked, still gently curious.

"Can't," Tony confirmed. "Do you remember when you couldn't go down to Autopsy?"

"Yes, I. . ."Abby allowed her thoughts to drift back to that time, the cold sweats, the abject terror; her inability to even press the button on the elevator that would take her there. "Oh," she said quietly, looking for and finally seeing the fear in his eyes as he met her gaze once more. "Oh," she repeated, her tone changing to one of true understanding. "What are you going to do?"

Tony gave her another smile. "I was thinking of running away," he stated.

She stared at him again, but only for a moment. He needed more time; he knew what he needed to do, he just needed more time. She could help him with that. She gave him a conspiratorial smile. "OK, how can I help?"

NCISNCIS

Abby gave him the all clear sign and he moved further out into the underground lot. "OK," she said in her best stage whisper. "I've got Ducky's keys to the truck."

"You're wonderful Abs," Tony stated. "I won't forget this."

"So, what are you going to do when you get home?" she asked.

"Sleep for a week," Tony lied, the fatigue was starting to turn to exhaustion. It had been a long day, and any reserves of energy he'd had had long since deserted him, but he wasn't at all sure that he was even capable of sleep, was afraid of the nightmares it would bring. What he really needed was to get away from here, to get away from the things he just couldn't yet face; they were close to the van now and Tony couldn't remember when he'd seen a more welcome sight.

"Yes, well you do need the rest."

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, the soft baritone making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Silently he turned to face Gibbs, the muscles in his abdomen cramping just on the edge of pain. His eyes closed briefly as he uttered a silent curse- busted.

"Sorry Tony," Abby said beside him, and he caught the look of guilt on her face. She had known Gibbs would be here; maybe she had called him. He stared for a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and betrayal.

"He was there when I went to get the keys off of Ducky," she explained, shrugging.

"S'okay," he managed to say, watching as she tossed the keys to Gibbs.

"I'll be in my lab if you need me," she stated, before making her escape.

Tony turned back to face Gibbs, unable to hide the look of guilt. "Hey Gibbs I. . . er. . ." He was at a loss for words. He stared at Gibbs expression, trying to gauge just how much trouble he was in.

Gibbs let him struggle for only a moment; normally he encouraged this fear from Tony. He wanted it, it kept him on his toes, made him work harder, made him a good agent, but at this particular moment it grated. Made him feel every inch of the bastard in his reputation, for the second time in as many days, and it hurt. This was more emotion, more pain than Gibbs was used to handling. "Get in the truck Dinozzo," he stated.

Tony looked dazed; this was clearly not what he expected.

"Get in the truck; I'm taking you home."

It took time for Tony's frazzled neurons to connect the dots. Gibbs didn't sound angry, in fact he was offering to take him home. Tony blinked twice, as though that would clear any illusions. He willed his muscles to work. "Yeah. . .uh Thanks boss."

Gibbs watched as Tony moved, desperately wishing he could be more open with his feelings, his concern. Tony had enough fear, shouldn't need to, shouldn't have to be afraid of his own boss, not right now, and yet Gibbs couldn't offer him any more comfort and support than a lift home. It just wasn't in him; three failed marriages were a testament to his inability to express his feelings, too much military training, too much successful suppression. So why in all hell did it hurt so much? He ground his jaw in frustration and climbed into the driver's seat of the truck, wondering as Tony strapped himself, in how long it would be before Tony could face climbing into a car again.

NCISNCIS

It was the little things, the fact that she didn't need to hide her purse, and check that there was nothing incriminating in it because he would find it anyway. She could leave her cell phone openly on her desk without worrying about calls being answered. She could eat the healthiest of meals without anyone making a comment. She could report to Gibbs without worrying about her information being upstaged by something that he had found out, infuriating her because she hadn't seen him put an ounce of effort into its production. She could work at her desk and not worry about small missiles hitting her or her computer screen; there were no innocent poses as she turned to track their source, not that she didn't know it was him but he could certainly pull the 'picture of beatific innocence' look when he wanted to. She could have normal rational conversations with no arguments.

She hated it.

It was the little things that made her hate it. His empty desk and chair mocking her, his deliberate minimal contact worrying. He'd called in at precisely 9a.m. each day. He was fine, but he wouldn't be in today, still tired and sore. He'd come in as soon as he felt well enough. They shouldn't worry or try to visit; he'd probably be asleep. He'd call back tomorrow.

He always rang Kate, asked her to pass the message to Gibbs. She always tried to argue, tried to get him to agree to come in. He always politely but firmly refused, and that was another part of the problem, he was too damn polite with her. It was as if she was a total stranger to him.

Today was different. Gibbs perched on the edge of her desk at exactly 8.58 a.m. and waited, his intentions clear. When the phone rang he picked it up.

"It's time Tony," he stated quietly.

In the brief conversation in the truck they had come to an agreement. NCIS couldn't hang on to the bodies of Donaldson and White indefinitely. Gibbs would delay closing the case for a few more days to give Tony the chance to make some decisions. The same choices Gibbs had given him in the hospital. Get past it, or clear his desk.

Gibbs needed his decision, they both did.

Could he get past it?

Gibbs waited for an answer.


	14. Intimacy

**Chapter 14:- Intimacy**

Gibbs nodded at Tony's softly spoken reply, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Tony wouldn't see the gesture from the other end of a phone line. He listened a little longer. "Understood," the comment was clipped, almost military, and uttered with no emotion. Gibbs cradled the receiver, staring straight ahead for a moment not moving. Kate almost exploded with the building tension but somehow she could not break the moment, the stillness, the silence.

She watched Gibbs' reactions carefully, trying to read him, trying to gauge the news from his responses. She should have known better. Gibbs' emotions could only be read when he wanted them to be. Still it didn't look good. She felt the muscles across her back tense into knots as she waited.

Finally Gibbs turned his head slightly and met her gaze.

"Call Ducky, tell him Tony's on his way in," he said standing, his tone neutral.

Kate felt the sense of relief washing over her as she picked up her phone, still warm from Gibbs touch, his unnaturally tight grip on it creating excess heat that now lingered. Her shoulders dropped as some of the tension of the last few minutes, of the last few days, drained away. Tony was coming in, he would see the bodies, gain some closure and then he would come back, and they could pick up where they left off. She could finally get her revenge for that 'Shitsu called Kate' comment. She was sure that she could think up something suitable if. . . ."

"McGee see if you can get some file boxes for Dinozzo to clear his desk." Again Gibbs kept the tone of the comment neutral, allowing his military side to cut off the emotion.

Kate stopped, her finger hovering over the buttons that would call up Ducky's extension. If that had been Gibbs first comment she could almost have handled it, almost. . maybe, but it wasn't. His first comment had given her hope, had robbed her of the tension that would have formed a barrier, would have helped her to cope with the idea that he wasn't coming back. Instead the comment hit her with her defences down, stabbed like a betrayal. She almost dropped the receiver. She stared at it for a moment before slamming it down. "What?" She stood, unable to control the swirl of emotion that now manifested as anger; anger that needed a focus and Gibbs was there. "But I thought that you just said he was coming in. He's following your advice. He just needs more time. He. . ."

Gibbs stopped part way back to his desk and turned to meet her gaze. Dropping his guard he allowed her to see the raw emotion, the understanding, just for a moment. She broke off her tirade as their eyes met, the silence hanging.

"He wants to collect his stuff," Gibbs said quietly, "I can't stop him."

No matter how much he wanted to, Tony had made his choice. He couldn't stop him, all he could do was deal with it, deal with the emotion. Deal with the. . . No! the walls slammed back into place, protective barriers that slid down as though they were on a hair trigger, blocking the emotion, protecting what was left of his soul from the ravages of the outside world, from seeing too many friends and comrades fall, too many falter, too many fail. Self preservation kicked in, it always did. His gaze hardened. "Now I suggest you deal with it Agent Todd, or get McGee to find you some extra boxes so you can clear your desk too." He stepped back then turned away, walking off in search of coffee. He needed coffee. He repeated the thought as he ignored the eyes that now bored into his back.

Kate just stared after him as he left, stunned as ever by his apparent callousness. This was Tony. How could he. . ? She slowly sank down into her chair, the anger draining to leave a deep sorrow in its place.

"He doesn't mean it." McGee stated quietly. He'd moved across to stand at her desk, flicking his gaze between her and Gibbs' retreating figure.

"Yes he does," Kate stated looking up at him, and neither of them knew if the other was talking about Gibbs or Tony.

NCISNCIS

The journey so far hadn't been as hard as Tony expected. Then again he'd expected it to be Hell. It had taken three buses and quite a lot of walking but he'd finally made it to the building that housed the NCIS offices.

He looked up at the subdued gold lettering, bit of a non sequitur- subdued gold, but it was. Quietly unassuming in the bright sunlight, maybe it was the font? Whatever it seemed to perfectly suit the agency inside the building, the gold representing the brash confidence, the strength of purpose that was necessary to get the job done, and yet it wasn't an agency swallowed by its own ego, a prisoner of its own public image like some of the other agencies that were there to uphold the law. NCIS could never be accused of driving its own publicity machine. They just quietly got on with the job.

A job that Tony loved.

A job that he was here to give up.

He had made it to two therapy sessions in the week since he had left the hospital. He had gone because he wanted to be fixed, wanted to get back to work, wanted to answer Gibbs question with a yes. He had left each time having to face the truth, the unpleasant conclusions. Kate and Gibbs had seen it when they'd looked at him, they had known and he'd known too. When he'd pulled that trigger something inside him had shattered, split into a thousand fragments, and even if he could put it back together, and that was only an if, then it wouldn't be achieved in a short space of time.

There was very little he could do about it, but the one thing he could do he had been avoiding, until Gibbs had called him on it. Gibbs, Kate and the team needed someone to fill his shoes, to take his place. Not someone on temporary assignment, here to cover for a week or a month before picking up something permanent somewhere else, continually being replaced, rotated round. It wasn't as safe that way, you couldn't build up the trust, didn't get to know them well enough to anticipate their moves, and that, in their profession could be dangerous. Tony didn't want to leave his team in that position. He'd thought about this long and hard, hadn't had much else to do. He could leave the team working with temps, risking their lives or, potentially worse, attempting to cope short handed, and for what? Until he finally got around to admitting that he wasn't coming back, because at that moment in time he genuinely didn't believe he ever could.

So he'd decided to make it easy on them, clear his desk, and if one day in the distant future he did make it back, then he could only hope that he'd make it onto a team as good as the one he'd left.

Not that he was giving up. He was here because he wasn't giving up. He was here to face the man he had killed. He knew that it would help. How had the therapist phrased it? '. . .contribute significantly to his eventual recovery.' The operative word in that sentence had been 'eventual.' Gibbs had seen it, Kate had seen it, and the therapist, Diane, had seen it too. So, he was here to pursue that part of his therapy. Now, if he could just make it through the damn doors. He stared at the sign and let out a long sigh.

NCISNCIS.

The world around didn't really register on his senses, not in any normal way. It was as if he was in a bubble that extended a few centimetres from his skin. He could see his own hands, could feel the tingling sensation that rippled up and down his skin as he moved. The metal handle of the drawer was visible only as his fingers approached, as though it was materialising in front of him.

He wasn't even sure how he'd made it here, vague recollections of corridors and carpet and nodded greetings as he'd passed. His interactions with the world must have seemed normal to everyone else. They didn't stop and stare, at least he didn't think they did.

Ducky had been in the room when he'd arrived, he'd pointed out which drawers Tony needed. He wasn't in the room any more. He must have left. Not that Tony could focus his senses on the rest of the room, so he wasn't sure how he knew that he was alone, but he was.

He could hear his own heart pounding in his chest, could feel the trickle of sweat run off his forehead, could hear his own harsh breaths as he drew air in and out, in and out; could feel the cold metal leaching the heat from his hand as his fingers grasped it. He drew one last deep breath in and pulled.

His vision expanded in a rush, the bright lights reflecting off the polished silver that surrounded him, and it took him a moment to deal with the head-spinning disorientation, until the world settled back to something approaching normality, and he found himself staring down at the pale features of Jeffrey White.

He almost fell back, tears sprang to the edge of his vision, prickling but not falling, bile rose in his throat, and the tightly knotted muscles of his abdomen attempted to rearrange themselves in new more painful patterns, dragging at his hollow stomach. He stood and rode the waves of nausea, holding them in, along with he tears. Finally he took another deep breath.

"Why?" he asked Jeffrey quietly.

"I've been here before, I've killed people before, perhaps with less reason. You would have killed me." He put his fingers up to the still healing scar on his throat, suddenly angered by his own reaction to the death of someone who was a vicious killer, who would have killed him. He turned pulling open the drawer behind, the nausea rising once again as he looked down at the body of Lane Donaldson, saw for the first time the brutality of the attack. Donaldson's head had been half separated from the body, the deep gash running from ear to ear.

He stared for a moment, shock replacing the anger. He touched his neck once again, confronted by his own mortality. 'That could have been me.' The thought held him in a silent stare for a few moments before he turned back to face White. "You would have killed me. Why?" and this was a different question from the one he'd asked moments earlier, then he'd been questioning his own motivation, now he was questioning Jeffrey's. "We were friends," not true, but then again in some ways the bonds had been stronger than friendship, but why? That question again. "I wanted to help you?"

The anger drained out of him. "Why couldn't you let me help you?" The tears began to fall, he didn't try to stop them, didn't even notice them.

That wasn't the question he needed to ask.

Jeffrey White had been a lost cause long before the time Tony had spent with him. He was beyond any help that Tony could have given him. Tony knew that, Tony had known that in the car, had suspected it before he offered Jeffrey a deal. Had known it when he killed him, so why. . .?

That question again.

He stared at Jeffrey's body but did not see, his mind transported him back, vivid images played, details of their day together, no specific incidents, just looks, emotions.

Tony knew the answers; he just didn't want to admit them.

Jeffrey White was the embodiment of everything he was afraid of being. Lost, alone, someone desperate to be liked who had no friends, no purpose in life. Tony was afraid of becoming that, worked hard not to be. Physically worked out, styled his hair, chose his clothes carefully, worked so hard at getting people to like him, to need him, to want him. Fear drove him. Fear that he would be like Jeffrey.

Jeffrey had the same sense of abandonment that he felt, it pervaded through him, allowed him to identify with him in a way that exposed feelings like raw open nerves. Jeffrey's father had beaten him. Tony's father had never actually hit him, just terrorised him, ignored him and eventually disowned him, but the effect on the psyche had striking similarities. Similarities that had strengthened the bond, had made Tony want to like Jeffrey, need to like Jeffrey, need to save Jeffrey, because a part of Jeffrey was in him.

His mind played through the different sensations, bright pictures, flashing through conversations at lightning speed, until he was sitting in the car, and time suddenly froze, and there it was. That perfect moment of intimacy, that moment on the cusp between life and death, between taking a life and sacrificing your own. An intimacy, a melding of mind and soul and being that left him closer to another human being than anything else could have, an intimacy that was not even achieved at the moment of orgasm. It was in that moment that part of his soul had shattered.

He stared down at Jeffrey White's corpse, and realised that part of himself was still trapped in that moment, trapped in that car, and for as long as it was he wasn't coming back. "I guess I know why," he whispered softly.


	15. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Chapter 15: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow. **

"Tony!"

'Damn', he swore under his breath and closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, as he lamented how unfair this was. He had waited patiently, lurked in the shadows at the edge of the floor, used all of his surveillance skills so that he could ensure that they would be gone whilst he did this. He wanted them to just return to an empty desk, it would be easier that way, easier for everyone.

He had wanted to avoid this. He'd waited until they'd gone out on a call, waited until the elevator doors had closed behind them, waited until he was sure they wouldn't be coming back, and then he'd moved swiftly in. Half filled the first box in less than a minute. It was so unfair that she was there, so unfair that she'd come back.

So unfair, he repeated the thought one last time before plastering the false smile on his face, the one that even she wouldn't be able to see through, as he opened and raised his eyes, turning in a single action to face her. He lifted his shoulders, making his voice sound confident and sure, forcing out the words. "Hi Kate," he glanced around looking to the exit he had seen her leave by, checking that she was alone. "Wasn't expecting to see you, Clay told me you'd gone out on a job." The lie came easily, Special Agent Clay worked in the next group of desks, was working there now, his head down, she wouldn't check, wouldn't know that he'd been waiting for her to go, avoiding her.

Except she did, he looked her in the eye and he knew that she did. He swallowed, forced himself to press on. "I'm er. . .I," he glanced down at the objects in his hands. "Just clearing my stuff, Gibbs wanted. . ." that's right put it all on to Gibbs, it was easier that way, easier than dealing with the truth. " . . .he said. . ." but he couldn't keep it up, couldn't meet the intensity of her gaze, the barely concealed emotion that sat just behind her eyes, leaking out across the void between them, a void of awkwardness that had never existed before.

Kate felt equally uncomfortable as she realised what he'd done. She knew from Ducky that he had left the morgue a couple of hours earlier. She had waited for him to appear, had watched the second hand drag itself across the surface of the clock face. She had worked out that he wasn't coming to talk to her, had assumed that he had gone home, that he couldn't face both White and clearing his things out on the same day. Saying goodbye was going to be hard on all of them.

Of course she should have figured out that he was just waiting for her, for them to leave, that he wouldn't want to face them. She cursed herself for not going to look for him. If she hadn't come back he would have just left, with nothing being said, and there were things that needed to be said.

"Tony," the repeat of his name was soft and warm, and a preamble to all of the things she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, the emotions she needed to express.

His eyes had dropped back to the desk. He looked up again met her gaze, held it. "Kate, don't," the plea was simple, sincere; it almost broke her. How could he ask for so much in two simple words? He was asking her to let him go, to give up without a fight, to make this easier on all of them, because he couldn't do what she wanted him to do. He was asking her with every fibre of his being, asking her without using the words because he couldn't use the words.

Two simple words, too much emotion.

She held his gaze, stared for a moment. Nothing either of them could say would make a difference. He was past that point where it might have. He'd reached acceptance, she owed him enough to do that too. She broke the moment, turned to look at her desk. "I forgot my cell." She moved the couple of feet necessary to reach out and pick it up.

Under different circumstances Tony would already have picked it up. He would have taken great delight in checking through her messages, accessing her voicemail, gaining information to bait her with. She hated that.

She wished she could go back to it.

She looked back across at him. "Gibbs is really mad that I had to come back for it."

Tony nodded a small acknowledgement, trying to keep his eyes from boring into her. She was doing what he wanted, changing the subject, backing off from all of the pent up emotion that now drove a chasm between them. If it was what he wanted why did he have such a strong desire for her to scream at him not to go, not to do this? Why did he want to explain to her why he had to? He was never good at revealing his emotion, why did he have a strong desire to break down and cry, and tell her how unfair it was, how he didn't want to leave? To tell her that he knew he couldn't come back because he couldn't even touch his own damn gun? That he was going to have to leave that locked in his desk because even the thought of taking it out was enough to nearly empty the contents of his stomach into his trashcan? He knew why; if he did any of that then this goodbye would be even more impossible than it was now. "You'd better hurry then," he managed a small smile, "because pissing off Gibbs is a real bad way to start the afternoon."

It was her turn to nod, her turn to almost give in to the desire to let the emotion out. She took a step back. "Yeah, I'd better go." She hesitated, there had to be something else. "You'll keep in touch?" She paused, the words sounded so hollow. "We'll go out- maybe for a meal or something?"

He smiled again, a hollow empty smile, not that it was insincere, just that he was incapable of the emotion that should have accompanied it. "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Promise?" she asked, knowing that if it wasn't a promise it wouldn't happen.

"I promise," he agreed, knowing that it wouldn't happen.

"I'll. . .er. . " she continued to back away, not wanting the contact to end, even though she knew that she had to go. "I'd . .er. . .better get going then. . . Gibbs. ."

"Doesn't like to be kept waiting, I know Kate. Don't worry, I'll see you around."

She nodded one last time; finally it was too hard. She turned and moved from the room at a pace that was just a fraction away from running,

He watched her go. "I'll see you around," he repeated the words so softly that it was a strain to hear them himself. Then with a heavy sigh he went back to his packing.

She barely making the elevator before the tears filled her eyes. There was no way it ever could have been easy. She drew in a deep breath to compose herself, stifling the response, wiping the tears carefully away, disturbing her make-up as little as possible. She wouldn't let Gibbs and McGee see her like this. Tony was being strong- she could too. It wasn't as if she was never going to see him again, and that was when her heart constricted completely, as she realized it just might be.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs pulled up outside the apartment building and waited. He looked down at his hands, brushing his fingers across the rough calluses on the surface. They were more pronounced than usual. Several prolonged bouts of sanding his boat that had gone on well into the night were responsible for that. He looked up again and allowed a small smile as the reason for all those extra sessions made his way through the doors.

It had been two weeks since Tony had cleared out his desk, two weeks of no contact and business as usual, or so it seemed on the surface. No one acknowledged, although everyone recognized, the ripple effects of Tony's departure as it permeated through the team, affecting each of them in a different way. They still did their jobs, they had solved two cases, and had another almost resolved, pending some confirmations, but the atmosphere had changed, the dynamic shifted and not in a good way.

If Tony had kept Gibbs waiting, worse, if he'd had to go in and get him, then Gibbs would have been more worried, but Tony almost bounced across the sidewalk, pulling open the door, and climbing easily in.

"Hey. . ." and their was almost a moment of awkwardness as Tony nearly called Gibbs boss, but he caught himself. "Gibbs," he completed, looking down at his watch. "1.30 on the dot, good to know nothing changes."

"Rule number 2 Dinozzo. . ." Gibbs began

". . .always show up on time." Tony completed.

"It's actually. . 'always be punctual,' but close enough."

"Hey, I'm a little rusty," Tony protested half-heartedly as Gibbs pulled out into traffic. "It's been three weeks."

"I know, and thanks for coming in like this. I know that you don't have to, but helping us close out the paperwork on this case will save so much time." Gibbs acknowledged the reason he'd arranged to pick Tony up, or at least the excuse he'd given.

"That's OK bo. . .Gibbs." He barely caught himself this time. Damn, he had to stop doing that.

"The file's in the glove box if you want to get a heads up- refresh your memory." Gibbs nodded in that direction and then concentrated on the traffic as he changed lanes.

"Uh Thanks," Tony leaned forward, loosening the catch and pulling the door open. He picked up the file and pulled it out, letting out a slight gasp as the file pulled clear revealing a gun underneath.

Gibbs didn't miss the sound, turning to surreptitiously study Tony's reaction. Tony stared at the gun, momentarily frozen as he studied it.

"Sorry," Gibbs said, "I should have warned you that was in there. It's my back up piece," he stated.

"What?" it took Tony a moment to process what Gibbs had said, he pulled his gaze from the gun, shaking his head slightly, "No, it's OK, no problem." He gave a smile, "Nice piece," he said looking back at it before clicking the latch shut.

"Yes it is," Gibbs stated with a smile, the reaction was as good as he could have hoped. There was a chance. "It certainly is," he repeated.


	16. Getting Back on the Horse

**Chapter 16 . . .Getting Back on the Horse.**

Gibbs was skilled in many things, watching people without them even being aware of it was just one of those skills, but he utilised it to full effect for a full ten minutes before slipping his hand into his pocket and hitting the send button on his cell.

The first test was of Tony's reaction to the crime scene photographs. It had been a messy bust, suspected terrorists trying to infiltrate a naval stockyard. Tony had taken two of them out; Ducky had confirmed that the kill shots had been his, and pictures of the dead men were the first thing Tony saw when he opened the file.

Tony stared at the photographs; his normal reaction was a slight twinge of guilt at taking the life of others, before he reminded himself that he'd had no choice. It had been a kill or be killed situation. They had fired back, they could have killed Gibbs or Kate or McGee or some innocent bystander. Emotion wasn't something he could afford to dwell on, wasn't something he did dwell on. At least he hadn't before, hadn't until Jeffrey's death had robbed him of any perspective, of any way of dealing with the emotional void.

He stared at the blood, and now? How did he feel now? Looking back at what he had done before. He drew in a deep breath and thumbed quickly through the rest of the photographs, looking for the report. Maybe reading the report would be easier, wouldn't force his mind to confront questions that he wasn't ready to answer.

Gibbs took note of the slight increase in breath rate, the momentary indecision and panic, the classic avoidance tactic of moving past the photographs to something that was easier to face, the regain of control by increments as he began to read. He was ready. It was now or never.

Gibbs flipped open his cell on the second ring. "Gibbs," he answered gruffly, listening for a moment before his second reply, equally abrupt. "Where?" There was another pause, then Gibbs flipped the cell phone shut without another word and tossed it across to a startled Tony.

Tony had been watching him since the first ring, a welcome distraction from the case report, so he managed to catch the cell, despite the abruptness of the throw, but not without sacrificing the file which slid from his knee to the floor. He had no chance to retrieve it before Gibbs snapped a "Hold on?" and threw the SUV into a sharp U-turn, to a blaze of horns and screech of brakes from other traffic.

Tony grabbed for the door and the dash, his hold restricted as he attempted to keep his grip on the cell at the same time. He braced himself as well as he could, as the rear end of the big vehicle fishtailed wildly, before straightening. He just about had time to draw in a few deep breaths against the uncomfortable nausea of being thrown about, before Gibbs slewed the vehicle wildly again, passing between slower moving traffic with barely more than a few inches of air between vehicles.

Tony took another deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. "Gee I'd forgotten how much fun it was to let you drive," he stated sarcastically.

Gibbs ignored the comment, as he'd known he would. "Call Kate, tell her I have the location of Petty Officer Michaels. He's holed up in a warehouse on the corner of East and 17th. I need her and McGee to meet me there- now."

Tony didn't protest, didn't make any comment about the fact that Gibbs was treating him like he'd never left, following Gibbs orders was as natural to him as breathing. "Kate?- Yeah it's Tony," he interrupted her quickly before the fact that he was calling on Gibbs' cell had chance to pull out the stream of questions he knew she would have. "Look no questions I have a message from Gibbs. He's just got a call on the location of Petty Officer Michaels, a warehouse on the corner of East and 17th. He needs you and McGee to meet him there."

"Where is Gibbs?" Kate asked.

So much for no questions. "He's driving. We're on our way there now."

"So he's taking you with him?" Kate sounded a little uncomfortable at the idea.

Tony hadn't really thought about it. "Yeah, I was in the SUV when he got the call, so yeah, I guess I'm going too."

"But. ."

"Just tell her to stop asking questions and get her butt over there." Gibbs snapped abruptly. "I've lost this guy twice I'm not about to lose him again."

Tony gave a slight swallow, the tone Gibbs was using wasn't one you argued with. "Gibbs says. . ."

"It's OK I heard," Kate interrupted. "Tell him we're on our way." There was a slight pause before the click, as though there was something else that she wanted to say, but whatever it was she decided against it.

Tony pulled the cell from his ear and stared at it for a moment, trying to get a handle on his own emotional state. Adrenaline was certainly pumping through his system, colours seemed brighter, sounds sharper. The SUV slewed again, breaking the moment as he was forced to move his hands and brace himself once more against the movement. "She said they're on their way." He repeated the reply to Gibbs as he analysed Kate's reaction. She was concerned that he was there? Of course she was concerned, he was broken, out of the game, only good for reading files. Why wouldn't she be concerned that Gibbs was taking him along to pick up a suspect, with the sort of urgency reserved for terrorists and killers?

Gibbs seemed to sense his unease. "Sorry about dragging you along for the ride but I don't have time to drop you off. No telling how long this guy will be in there for."

Tony gave a slight shake of his head. "Not a problem," he stated, as his mind split in two. There was the half that reacted instinctively to the adrenaline that was coursing through his system, the promise of action and danger. It was a situation that was familiar, he'd been trained for it, had experience. That part of him was ready for action, ready to get back in the game, and then there was the half that was damaged. The part that tensed muscles that shouldn't be tensed, that coiled his intestines painfully, that forced beads of sweat to form on his forehead, that panicked his thoughts, and kicked up his breathing rate, and took him back to that cusp between life and death that he'd been in the wrong emotional state to face. There was a brief battle as the two sides vied for control, but ultimately it was the panic that was stronger as it dragged him back into a world of flashbacks of gunshots and blood and. . .

"Tony!"

It was only the familiar tones calling his name that pulled him back to reality, that made him realise just how lost he'd been. The SUV was parked across from the entrance to the warehouse. Gibbs was standing next to him, checking the clip in his gun.

"OK I'm going in," Gibbs stated calmly. "When Kate and McGee get here send them in after me."

"Shouldn't you wait for backup, boss?" Tony asked not even noticing the subconscious slip this time. "I mean you have no idea. . ."

Gibbs looked up from his weapon, met his gaze with those sharp blue eyes, that uncompromising expression that dared anyone to challenge it.

Tony's protest died on his lips. Gibbs knew what he was doing. Gibbs always knew what he was doing.

Gibbs shoved the clip back into his gun without looking at it again. Instead he held Tony's gaze. "You stay here. Send Kate in when she gets here."

Tony nodded; he could do that. Gibbs slipped his gun into his holster and without looking back ran across to the warehouse. Tony watched him until he moved out of sight around the corner, and then he was alone.

A few weeks ago and Gibbs would have been trusting him to watch his back, not leaving him behind, cowering in the front of the SUV like some child who needed to be protected from the danger. For the first time Tony's own impotence hit him. It struck hard and painfully like a slap across the face, or an ice cold drink poured over his head. It wasn't the physical pain, it was the humiliation, the knowledge that he couldn't protect himself, couldn't back anyone up, couldn't back Gibbs up. The one thing that gave him some pride about himself, that he allowed his own worth in, and he couldn't do it any more. He opened the door to the SUV and swung his legs round, leaning out as he attempted to control the almost overwhelming nausea.

"Tony I need help now," Gibbs usually tightly controlled tones sounded panicked over the tinny radio that sat behind Tony between the seats.

Slightly startled, Tony didn't think to question why the radio was there or why it was switched to receive. He looked not at it but across to the building where Gibbs had disappeared. That was when the gunshots rang out loud and clear. Tony stared, a low grunt of pain echoed across the airwaves, and finally Tony turned and scrabbled for the radio behind him. "Gibbs," he yelled into it. "Are you there?" Only static greeted him. He swore softly and threw the radio down, yanking open the glove box he pulled out the gun and checked the clip. Then he ran toward the building, without a second thought. Instinct and experience and training took over, running roughshod over any protests from his subconscious mind. There was nothing now but reaction.

He moved more cautiously as he hit the side wall. He could see the open entrance only a few feet from the corner and he flattened himself against the wall as he sidestepped along. The entrance was a gaping eight-foot hole, where the sliding door had been pushed out of the way. There was no cover anywhere, no way of checking on the insides without going in.

Tony tried his best to slow his breathing to gather his concentration. The next split second could mean life or death. He drew in one last full deep breath and threw himself through the door, his gun held out in front of him as he swept the interior. He almost froze as he saw Gibbs. He was being held from behind, a knife at his throat, but the man holding him appeared to have no other weapon and so Tony continued his sweep of the room, reacting just before the muzzle flash from the gun held by the second man. Tony dropped into a dive, rolling forwards, towards the second suspect. He heard the bullet whiz over his head as his shoulder hit the ground, and then he was rolling, coming up on one knee and firing two shots simultaneously. The second man staggered back and dropped, but Tony had already switched attention away from him and swept the rest of the room. It was empty.

Slowly he turned his gun back to the extremely nervous looking young man who held Gibbs.

"D.drop the weapon or I will kill him," Petty Officer Michaels, tried to sound confident threatening. He failed.

"Hey Tony, what took you so long?" Gibbs asked casually, as though he'd just gone to get coffee.

"Well you know, three weeks off- doesn't take long to get out of shape," Tony's reply sounded equally casual, but he drew aim on Michaels' head, ready to pull the trigger at the slightest sign that Michaels was going to use the knife.

"I s. . said, drop the weapon," Michaels said, shifting to pull Gibbs back, closer against him. "Or I will hurt him."

Tony shifted very slightly as well. "Not gonna happen," he stated. "Only thing that is going to happen is that you are going to drop that knife and let my boss there go, or you are going to die."

Michaels looked nervously from Gibbs to Tony and back to Gibbs again. There was something entirely too calm about the man he held. A man with a knife at their throat ought to have some sort of reaction. He switched his gaze back to Tony. "This guy's your boss?"

"Yes," Tony replied, without hesitation, something in his world had shifted, had clicked back into place, and he was sure that he'd have time to analyse it later but for the here and now he could just accept it. "And holding him like that is liable to make him tetchy, and trust me you don't want to see him when he's tetchy." Tony paused for a breath, he was sure he'd seen a brief smile cross Gibbs' face. "So," Tony took a small step forwards, "what you are going to do is drop the knife, take a step back and lace your fingers behind the back of your head."

"I'd do what he says," Gibbs stated. "I am his boss and I can tell you two things about him. First, he's an expert marksman- your buddy over there already found that out. Secondly, he gets bored very easily, if you wait too long, he just might shoot you anyway."

On cue Tony raised his weapon and overtly drew a bead between Michaels' eyes. "Drop the knife, now!"

The knife clattered to the floor and Michaels stepped back. Gibbs turned and quickly cuffed him, before pushing him ahead of him as he moved across to Tony. His eyes had never really strayed from the younger agent's face. Tony just lowered the gun, not moving until Gibbs got close, and then he fell into step beside him.

Kate and McGee arrived as they emerged from the warehouse into the afternoon sunshine. They both stared pointedly at Tony, their eyes drawn to the gun which still dangled from one hand.

"Gibbs what. . .?" Kate began.

"McGee take Petty Officer Michaels in for me." Gibbs pushed the prisoner across to him, before turning his attention to Kate. "There's another body in there it looks like we interrupted Michaels in the middle of one of his drug deals. You'll need to call Ducky and get another team out here."

"But Tony. . .I. . ." Kate was having trouble processing what she wanted to ask

Gibbs just carried on as though she hadn't spoken "Tony took him out, it was a clean shoot but I want this to go by the book." The quiet intensity of the statement, somehow seemed to quell all of Kate's protests. Gibbs needed her to sort this out. He needed to finish whatever it was that he had started with Tony.

"OK, I'll take care of it."

He met her gaze briefly; it was enough to convey his silent gratitude

Tony didn't look up, didn't stop, he carried on walking towards the SUV, only stopping when he reached it. He placed the gun carefully on the hood, staring at it. Just that morning he couldn't have picked it up without throwing up. Now it felt right, almost comfortable in his hand. Everything he had just done felt right.

"What just happened?" he asked quietly, without turning.

Gibbs stood next to him. "You just got back on the horse Tony."

"As simply as that?" Surely it couldn't be that easy. Not after. . .how could he. .

"You want it to be more complicated."

Tony thought about that for a moment. He shook his head. "It just feels like it should be."

Gibbs head dipped for a moment as memories of his own living nightmares briefly broke through the defences. "I know." There was a pause whilst he re-boxed the images and emotions, and carefully filed them again. "but often it isn't- you just need the right incentive to climb back in the saddle."

Tony turned to lean his back against the vehicle, leaving the gun behind him. "There could be complications, since I'm not an agent anymore and I just. ."

"There'll only be complications if I remembered to file the paperwork on your resignation, and we've been really busy since you left us short staffed."

Tony turned to see a rare grin on Gibbs face and returned it. "Thanks," he said quietly, turning to stare at the police vehicles arriving at the warehouse.

"That's OK, I'd better get back and help process the crime scene." He began to walk away. He had only taken a few steps when he turned. "Oh and Tony."

"Yeah boss."

"You can get out of that car now."

Tony looked around a little confused. He knew he'd been disoriented but he was pretty sure he wasn't. . . "But I'm not. . ." and then the real meaning hit him. "Yeah," he replied thoughtfully, "Yeah, I guess I can."


	17. Closure and Epilogue

**Chapter 17 Closure and Epilogue.**

Gibbs sensed there was something the second he walked into the bullpen. Kate was already at her desk, Tony and McGee yet to arrive. He knew what was coming. Kate had been building to it for the last day and a half. She had been giving him looks that betrayed her emotion, but had so far restrained from comment. He'd known it wouldn't last. He just wasn't sure what would push her over the edge.

It was only a day and a half since Tony had shot and killed Matthew Ward, since Petty Officer Richard Michaels had been taken into custody, and a lot had happened. Tony had been cleared for duty and was coming back to work today, although he was unlikely to be doing anything other than filing paperwork for a little longer, psyche had cleared him for active duty again. Everyone had been relieved and excited by the prospect of having Tony back, but Kate had a problem. She had a problem with the methods he had used, and it was only a matter of time until she called him on it

He barely made it to his desk before she was there, standing opposite him as he turned and placed his coffee on the desk, the air around her crackling slightly with repressed emotion. He looked at her expectantly

"I just spoke to our informant on the Michaels' case."

So that was it she had been waiting for proof of intent. Gibbs met her gaze dispassionately, giving nothing away, waiting to see what she would say. How far she would go.

Her tone was sharp, challenging. "He thinks we should pay him double since apparently he gave us the information about Michaels' whereabouts twice."

Gibbs kept his expression neutral. "Really?"

"Yes, the first time was at 11 a.m. then again at 1.50."

"Interesting," Gibbs stated, his expression unchanging. " You'd better pay him then." He shrugged out of his jacket, the action causing him to look away. It read like a dismissal. He knew Kate had to get this out, but that didn't mean he was going to take it easy on her. She wouldn't expect that. Wouldn't appreciate that. Part of getting this out of her system involved venting anger and frustration, and he had to feed that if this exchange was going to be truly cathartic for both of them. Just as she needed to vent on him, he needed to hear it, to dispel some of his own fear and guilt at what might have happened. If he'd been wrong. . .

Kate stared at him, the frustration building by increments. She'd made her challenge clear and he knew it. "That's all you've got to say- 'pay him?'" The tone was more angry now.

Gibbs was dragged sharply back from his own introspection. "Yes," he met her gaze again, "but clearly you have more."

"The first time you took the call on Michael's whereabouts you were here. We were here." She made a gesture that took in McGee's desk and her own. "You could've picked him up with the proper backup, instead you waited until you had Tony with you."

Gibbs had to look away, had to feed the anger a little more. He hung his jacket on the back of the chair before looking up. "And your point is?" he asked, now his gaze met hers with a new strength; it seemed to bore into her. Steel blue challenged her to continue with the accusation.

Kate couldn't help being a little disconcerted, but her anger was enough to drive her on. "My point is that there is no way that a couple of punks like Michael's and Ward got the drop on you. My point is that you set it up so that Tony would have to back you up."

Gibbs leaned forward slightly "And if I did?"

Kate wasn't sure what was frustrating her more, the fact that he had done it or the fact that he wasn't admitting it. She stared at him, or maybe he was. The confusion drove her on. She leant forward herself, resting her hands on Gibbs' desk. Her voice rose in pitch as anger tightened her vocal chords. "Are you insane? You could have gotten both of you killed. I read the report. Michael's had a knife at your throat and Ward got off at least one clean shot at Tony before he had a chance to fire back."

Gibbs shook his head. "You'll have to make up your mind Kate, either they were thugs who couldn't have got the drop on me, or they were dangerous killers. You can't have it both ways."

"Even a thug can kill with a gun." Kate's reply was quieter, more controlled and all the more effective for it.

No good, this wasn't a time for quiet control; Kate needed to get the anger out. "But they didn't. I'm fine, Tony's fine. So just what is your problem?"

"So that's it, you got away with it?" Kate regarded him with an incredulous expression. Couldn't he see what he'd done? "You took a hell of a risk, what if Tony couldn't back you up? What if he'd made it inside and froze? What if. . ." Kate had imagined so many bloody outcomes since she'd seen Tony walk out of the warehouse, had seen them in her nightmares. The powerful images made her voice shake slightly; fear now mixing with the anger and the frustration. She could have arrived at that warehouse to find both of their bodies, his and Tony's, couldn't he see that, didn't he know how reckless he'd been?

Gibbs stood. "It didn't happen Kate," he stated softly, and there was something else in his eyes now. It was as if he could see the images from her nightmares, as if he'd shared them, and done it anyway.

Her anger wasn't going to be quelled that easily, the next words escaped in a flood. "But it was irresponsible, and stupid and reckless and. . ."

"Yes."

The word was softly spoken against the tirade, but it was enough to stop her dead, she stared at him, unsure that she had heard right. He was agreeing with her, and not only agreeing with her, but admitting to behaviour that if any of them had tried it, he would have chewed them out long and hard. She stared, the anger finally draining away.

"But it got him back," the subtle emphasis on the word him alluded to more than just the physical. It was their Tony that they had back, and Gibbs had brought him back in the only way possible, regardless of the risk.

The emotion hung in the air for a moment longer, as Kate accepted the truth of what Gibbs was saying; it had been the only way. As it dissipated there was only an awkwardness left in its wake.

"I. . er. . I guess I'll fill out the requisition to pay the informant," Kate stated, taking a step back towards her own desk.

Gibbs nodded. He waited until she started to walk away before calling her. "Kate."

She turned in response.

"Pay him a little more than double."

Questioning eyes met his.

"I did keep him waiting around for a signal from me." Gibbs stated, suppressing the accompanying smirk as he sat down and reached for his coffee.

**EPILOGUE**

Tony was working at his desk, looking up every so often to give Kate another hard stare for what she had done to his pants, whatever she had spilt on them, it smelt awful. He couldn't prove it but he was sure it had been deliberate. She knew he didn't have a spare pair to change, into since he'd used up both of the pairs he normally kept in his locker after visiting two particularly grimy crime scenes the day before. The only alternative he had were his shorts, and they were looking more and more tempting the longer he had to put up with this smell.

For her part Kate just kept smiling back at him sweetly, which of course just made it all the more infuriating, deepening his scowl.

"Special Agent Dinozzo?"

Tony looked up at the questioning tone, standing to greet the stranger who now stood at his desk. Although it wasn't quite a stranger, Tony recognized him from somewhere. "Yes that's right." He moved round his desk offering his hand, trying hard and failing to put his finger on where he knew this man from. "I'm sorry do I know you?"

"Jason," the young man returned Tony's handshake, "Jason Vernon. You. . .er. . borrowed my motorcycle."

The images slid into place, the SUV crash, faking a leg injury, tricking Jason into searching for a ficticous dog before stealing his motorcycle. Tony looked slightly embarrassed. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry about that I. ."

"No need to apologise," Jason interrupted. "Special Agent Todd explained the whole situation to me." He turned briefly to look at Kate before turning his attention back to Tony.

Tony followed his gaze, to be met by a smiling Kate; she gave him a little wave and continued to grin at him as Jason turned back. That was when Tony was hit by an almost overwhelming sense of dread. "Oh, she did did she?" He asked, realizing that this was a set up of Kate's engineering, and that she looked altogether too happy about it.

"Yes," Jason said, enthusiasm shining brightly in his eyes "and I have to say that I'm most impressed by your dedication to your job." He lowered his voice, "Having to go undercover as a male prostitute shows real dedication to law enforcement if you ask me."

"Yes, well. . ." Tony began, but he was unsure how to continue. He could see past Jason to where Kate was sniggering openly, damn he was going to get her back for this one. It took him a moment to realize that Jason was speaking again.

"I have to admit that I was a little angry at first, but I did get my motorcycle back undamaged, and after Kate explained about the dangerous assignment you were on an' all, and the injuries you received in the line of duty I felt it was the least I could do."

Tony took a moment to process the statement, still half plotting his own revenge on Kate. "The least you could do?" he repeated questioningly.

"Yes," he made a gesture behind him, "I know its taken a few weeks, and she was a lot the worse for wear, I guess wilderness living'll do that for ya, but at least we found her."

"Found her?" Tony repeated again, his brain still not processing the implications.

"Your dog, Kate," Jason stated excitedly as a young woman stepped round the corner with a very mangy looking dark brown dog, which was now straining at the leash. The girl let go, and the animal made a beeline for Tony's pants. Barking excitedly, it attacked Tony's leg as soon as it was in range. Biting into the material, pulling and growling with such force that Tony had to brace himself in order not to fall over.

"But I don't. . . " Tony began, and then his attention was focused on the dog that was attacking his leg with some vehemence. He looked up at Jason. "But I don't own a dog, I don't even like dogs," he stated, looking pleadingly at Jason for help, but Jason had stepped back. He looked back down at the mangy animal, attempting to talk to it.

Behind Jason Kate was laughing so much she thought her sides would split apart, as each, "good doggy. . .nice doggy," left Tony's lips.

Tony intermittently looked up for allies, but, although he was attracting a lot of attention, his audience, he couldn't help but notice Ducky and Abby out of their normal environment and amongst them, was simply watching and laughing. He tried without success to shake the mutt off, but whatever Kate had spilt on his pants was clearly driving the animal wild. Trying to maintain what dignity he could, he decided that his only hope was the locker room and his shorts, and he began the tortuous journey dragging the dog behind him, a spectacle of much hilarity.

Kate watched him go, deciding that this was much better than shooting him, maybe he'd think twice before he called his next made up pet Kate. She settled back down to her work. Ah revenge was sweet!

Gibbs watched the whole spectacle silently from the top of the stairs. It was good to have things back to normal.

The End

Author's note:- Thanks again for all the support during the writing of this. I hope those of you who read it enjoyed it. I would love to know your opinions. Thanks so much:- Judith


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